


A Very Successful Abduction

by astudyinlestrade



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cake, Classical Music, Fluff, Foreign Language, Lestrade the humanitarian, M/M, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-13
Updated: 2011-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-27 07:39:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astudyinlestrade/pseuds/astudyinlestrade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft abducts Lestrade and takes him to a fancy dinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an RP with the magnificent and incredibly legit Taylor [shoveaspockinit | tumblr]. Posts marked with an "R" are mine, and those marked with a "T" are hers.
> 
> As much as we would love to, we don't own Mycroft or Lestrade. They belong to the geniuses Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.

R: Greg turned his head to look at Mycroft. They were both sitting in Mycroft's black government vehicle. He had pushed Greg onto the leather seats without a single word, leaving Greg utterly confused. "Mycroft. Will you tell me where we're going, please? I mean, you come into my flat, drag me away from my paperwork, and shove me into your car without so much as saying 'hi'? Just...tell me what's going on, will you?"  
   
T: The eldest Holmes brother moved with nothing but utter grace as he manhandled the DI into his car, and his face stayed solid as a rock, sure of himself, but when his calm voice answered Greg as one leg crossed over the other in an elegant movement, Mycroft's calm, level voice was just a tiny bit quieter than Greg had come to get used to. "It's very simple, Detective Inspector." He said. "You could not be allowed to refuse this venture."  
   
R: "Venture? What ven-- you mean spying on Sherlock? Oh, no. Sorry. It's not worth wasting that much fuel, I'm telling you right now I'm refusing that offer." Greg's tone was adamant, but also a bit pleading. After all, he  _did_ have hours and hours of work left on his desk. But even after his protests, the car kept going.  
   
T: Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Please. As though I would need your help to keep tabs on him. You're fully aware of the kind of surveillance I have access to." Actually, he wasn't. If he was, he might consider showering at home after a long day's work instead of at the rather nice communal showers in the locker rooms at Scotland Yard. Not that there were cameras IN the showers... But there were certainly cameras in other places- for instance, the empty locker across from Greg's. "This has nothing to do with Sherlock, I assure you."  
   
R: Greg turned and looked at Mycroft. He made a shrugging gesture with his arms. "Then what the hell is this about? I would like an answer. I thought you only kidnap people when you need spies on Sherlock. And clearly you don't. So what's the deal, and why isn't your driver stopping?" He was almost shouting at this point. He motioned to the barrier between the front and back seats. "Is this soundproof? Can your driver not hear us or something?"  
   
T: Mycroft turned to look at Lestrade, and smiled at him in a way that could almost be described as angelic. "Oh, no. He's just discreet. And he only takes his directions from me." His attention seemed to avert for a moment to the handle of his brolly, where it had been laid across his lap. Mahogany. Expensive. "I'm taking you out to dinner." Mycroft said, in no uncertain terms. "You could not be allowed to refuse because the reservations were quite difficult to acquire." His voice had taken on that uncharacteristically quiet tone again. "If you would prefer not to join me this evening, then please- Simply enjoy the opportunity to taste the work of a gourmet chef for an evening, as my apology for distracting you from your work."  
   
R: Greg was at a loss for words. He didn't know where to begin. He certainly hadn't been in such a situation before. He hadn't ever been abducted, shoved into a black bulletproof very expensive imported car, and driven off with not a single word just for _dinner_. "Y-You're...let me get this straight. You kidnap me so you can take me out to dinner? If you wanted to eat dinner with me, you could have just called, like  _normal_ people." Greg knew he would have accepted the invitation without doubt. Whenever Mycroft appeared at crime scenes, Greg caught himself staring at those elegant fingers curved around the handle of his umbrella, his lips as they formed a smirk... No, Greg thought, no. Focus. Don't get distracted by all this, Greg, not now. You're still being abducted. Whether it is to a prison or an abandoned warehouse or a five star restaurant, abduction is abduction.  
   
T: Mycroft glanced up at him. "I already had the reservations. I could not cancel them." He said, and while the tone of his voice had taken on an almost threatening edge, there was a look in his eyes that didn't quite make it to threat, and instead looked a bit like desperation. Lestrade could not be allowed to refuse this invitation because Mycroft would not allow such a blow to his own ego. Mycroft could manipulate his own emotions almost as skillfully as he could manipulate- well, everything else.  
   
R: Greg raised an eyebrow. A reservation that even the great Mycroft Holmes has difficulty in obtaining? This  _has_ to be good. "All right then, Mycroft, I accept your...well, I don't know if I should call this an invitation. I accept your proposal. I'll go to dinner with you. As long as you'll note that I have a walnut allergy, so please make sure your 'gourmet cuisine' doesn't involve large amounts of walnut in any way, shape, or form. Have you got that? Good." He looked out the tinted windows, and could not for the life of him recognize which part of London they were in. Or were they not in London anymore? Traveling in this car made it impossible to keep track of the time. All of a sudden, the car stopped. "Are we here?" he asked.  
   
T: Once Lestrade had agreed, Mycroft was back to being perfectly prim and proper in nanoseconds. "I'm fully aware of your allergy and have selected our venue accordingly." He said, letting it be known that everything was perfectly under control, and then letting the silence sit between them until they had arrived. By the time Lestrade had noticed, Mycroft was already out of his seat and around the back of the vehicle, holding his brolly with one hand and opening Greg's door with the other before offering it to him to help him out.  
   
R: Greg took the other man's hand and stepped out of the vehicle. "Thank you, kind sir." He turned and looked at the building the car had been parked in front of. A rusty, run-down pub. "Y-You said...gourmet, correct?" Then he turned around, and at the other side of the road, he could see the poshest, most high-end restaurant he had ever imagined. Greg, a man surviving on takeaways and crisps, looked down at his attire. A pair of black slacks and a white cotton shirt, with a dark red stain under the collar. He looked over at his companion for the evening, who was the very definition of dapper.  
   
T: The driver had already gotten out however, and extracted both a jacket in Lestrade's size and a black bow tie from the boot of the car. Mycroft was nothing if not prepared, and the smile he flashed at Lestrade could be considered smug. The cuisine of the evening was French- Mycroft thought it fitting. Almost as fitting as Greg's hand was in his own at that very moment. It was warm and slightly sweaty, and covered in callouses from Greg's profession. A few  from hand to hand combat, one from holding a gun, and one from filling out hours of dreadful paperwork. Mycroft decided to let Lestrade decide when it was appropriate to take his hand back, deciding that the DI could draw whatever conclusions he liked from the fact that Mycroft did not immediately let it fall.

R: He saw the driver approach him with a jacket and a bow tie. "Mmmm. Fancy, are we?" He slipped on the jacket and fastened the bowtie onto his shirt. "You really have thought of everything, haven't you?" He took Mycroft's hand in his again. "Shall we, _mon cher monsieur_? We are eating at London's finest restaurant, so I thought it would be appropriate that I use the bits of French I picked up from my _papa_. _Vous parlez français aussi?_ "  
   
T: Mycroft raised an amused and pleased eyebrow at him, even though he wasn't the least bit surprised that Greg knew a bit of his parent's native language. " _Oui. Le français est l'une des sept langues._ " He responded, feeling absolutely chuffed that Lestrade actually saw the need to take his hand again. Normally, Mycroft would have preferred to hold it up, as though he were taking Greg onto a dance floor to waltz, so that all of the patrons could see that his companion was indeed taken, and Mycroft's alone for the entire evening. Then again, holding hands down low, by their hips, like adolescent lovebirds, was really rather characteristic of Lestrade, and as thus, Mycroft saw no need to change it.  
   
R: They walked up to the restaurant, slowly. Greg held the door open for Mycroft, not letting go of his hand. " _Après vous, monsieur._ " Once inside the restaurant, they waited  for the maitre d' to verify Mycroft's reservation and be escorted to a table. The server motioned to an empty, secluded booth at the very back of the restaurant. "Your table, sirs." Greg watched as Mycroft leaned over and whispered a few words into the server's ear, then was surprised as the server repeated the statement in French. " _Votre table, messieurs._ "

T: Mycroft flashed another smile to Lestrade, and waited until the man was fully seated to let go of his hand and seat himself. The server poured them some ice water and delivered them some warm baguettes, and Mycroft picked a nice Cabernet for the two of them. Before long Mycroft had tested and approved of the wine, and they were left to their own devices, sipping wine that made their lips and cheeks slightly rosier. Mycroft caught Lestrade's eyes. "I would like to express my gratitude to you for accepting my offer, Detective Inspector. If you had been so inclined, you could have chosen to take this reservation to your advantage and invite a companion of your own choosing." He paused for a moment, and then his eyes flicked away from Lestrade's. "In fact, you still may, if you decide that is how you would rather spend you evening. I assure you there will be no charge to you or your guest."  
   
R: The more wine that kept slipping past Greg's lips, the more of a tease he became. How preposterous, Greg thought, he kidnaps me on a date then allows me to call anyone else I want. Well, the man he really wanted to dine with was sitting next to him at that very moment. He was shocked at how frightfully shy the great Mycroft Holmes could be. "All right, Mycroft. I'll do just that. I'll call the person I've always wanted to take to a fancy dinner, but don't have the cash for. Thanks for that, Mycroft!" Greg took out his phone and dialed, unbeknownst to the politician, Mycroft's number. Greg put his phone to his ear and waited.

T: Mycroft was capable of hiding the outward wince, but inside, he was crumbling. "Yes, of course." He said, and in a brief moment of bad manners, downed the remainder of his glass of wine. There would still be plenty in the bottle for Greg to share with whichever bird he was dialing at that very second, and at a time like this, Mycroft could use the alcohol. He would have thought that this would be enough to guilt Lestrade into dining with him, even if the policeman decided that it was against his better judgment. Mycroft had given him a way out because that was what diplomats did. They made the deal seem safer by creating a way out. Mycroft had been certain he wouldn't use it, and now... Mycroft stayed in his seat, waiting for Greg to finish his conversation with whomever he had chosen to invite, before he left Greg to enjoy his wait for the real fun to begin. This entire ordeal had not been worth it, had not been worth lording that favor Sherlock owed him over his head to get Sherlock to get the favor the owner of this restraunt owed him to come to fruition. It had not been worth the half an hour he had spent considering just which Jacket would look best on Greg, and then who to send it to to get tailored. It had not been worth the emotional upset that would no doubt be a terrible distraction for a time to come. He should have known better than to think that Greg would agree to this. It was off the beaten path. It was strange. And if Lestrade was anything, it was wonderfully, comfortingly normal. Normal enough to prefer eating dinner with an attractive young lady than with him.  Mycroft was so distracted that when he reflexively picked up his phone and held it to his ear, not particularly caring about being rude at this point, he didn't check caller ID or consider who might be calling him. "Yes?" He asked, almost testily.

R: "Hello? Is this Mycroft Holmes? This is Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. I'd like to invite you to an evening of gourmet French cuisine. I've been told by my host that the cost of our meal will be covered. So, what do you say, Mycroft? _Vous voulez diner avec moi ce soir?_ "

T: Mycroft was instantly surprised by hearing the voice in his ears both from his phone and across the table, and his eyes shot immediately to his... still... Companion. He took a long look at him that only appeared to be searching but was actually quite unbelieving, letting the silence hang between them until he answered, so softly that Greg would only be able to hear it on his phone, " _Je serais honoré de vous rejoindre._ " Then he snapped his own phone shut, returned it to his pocket, and with every semblance of composure, poured himself another glass of wine. Even in his disappointment and outrage, he'd heard what Greg had said before. That the person he would call was someone he'd always wanted to take to dinner. This night did not just need alcohol. By the time it was over, it would take nothing less than cake to calm Mycroft's jangled nerves.

R: Greg noticed Mycroft's mask of composure, and saw through it instantly. It was the same mask families of victims put on right before he interrogated them. He leaned over, put his hand on Mycroft's, and gave it a squeeze. He looked into Mycroft's eyes and gave him a one-sided smile. " _Merci, Mycroft._ " The younger man did not seem to calm down. Greg gave his hand another squeeze and inched closer to Mycroft. "You heard what I said. I've always wanted to go out with you. Do you think I would have accepted if I didn't want to? And I know you want to go out with me too. Don't think I haven't noticed the camera across from my locker. Why do you think I've been leaning over more often?"

T: Mycroft's heart was hammering in his chest. He let his eyes fall closed. With every syllable Lestrade uttered, it was harder for Mycroft not to burst into a grin, or more terrifyingly, into song. The resaurant did have a piano, and he could play... But then, so did his own flat. Mycroft tried not to imagine Greg laying across it, that delicious backside that he had apparently been showing off to the camera on purpose  pressing against polished black wood, vibrating with the tones of whatever song spilled from Mycroft's traitorously passionate heart. "I had been worried about your health, actually." He said in response. "I was worried that your hand eye coordination skills, or your ability to concentrate were going, and that was why you continuously dropped items from your own locker." He opened his eyes, and they fell on their joined hands. He absolutely did not look at Greg. "I checked with your supervisor to ensure that your job performance had not suffered." He was quiet for a long moment, and then continued in what was almost a whisper. "I should not have underestimated you." He had not thought that Greg could be any more wonderful than he already seemed to be... And he was wrong. That didn't happen very often.

R: He shifted his eyes from Mycroft's face to their hands, still joined. "People underestimate me pretty often at the Met. They just take me for some...stupid gay copper. I may be a DI, but that doesn't mean my team respects my leadership. I feel like they don't give a rat's arse what I think, so long as my success rate is high, and that's all your brother's doing. Speaking of Sherlock, that's another person who takes me for a stupid gay copper." He paused and bit his lower lip. Greg turned toward Mycroft. He lifted his hand, the one not currently wrapped around Mycroft's, and strokes Mycroft's cheek with the back of his index finger. "Thank you for being so kind to me, Mycroft," he whispers.

T: Mycroft WOULD fix the lack of respect that Lestrade met on an everyday basis. Several plots made themselves known to Mycroft immediately. He just needed to choose one and iron out the details, and everyone at the met would be kissing his feet. But that was for later. "Do not have any illusions about Sherlock. He may consider you stupid but that does not mean he underestimates you." Mycroft knew how that sounded, and continued a bit. "At least not as far as he knows. Sherlock knows of your observational skills and nothing else. Yours are quite average, and he sees that, and since it is below his own, he considers you stupid. He does not take into account other aspects of a person's intellect, such as ingenuity, nor does he consider any other features of a person before he judges them." Mycroft seemed as fond as he was disgusted, talking about Sherlock this way. "He has been making an exception to this narrow way of thinking for one Doctor John Watson. Perhaps it is not against hope to think that if Doctor Watson does him some good, you may soon consider yourself a respected colleague of Sherlock Holmes." Mycroft wouldn't interfere there. He couldn't, really. Mycroft's eyes closes again as Lestrade touched him, and his breath hitched in his throat. "You say that, and yet you shower me with such tender a caress?' He asked, seeming almost pained by the injustice of it. It was obvious to Mycroft that he was not the kindest man at the table at the moment. "As for myself, I only underestimate you because you defy expectations. CONSTANTLY."

R: Greg stroked Mycroft's cheek a few times, then slid his finger down to Mycroft's chin and lightly held it between his forefinger and thumb. "Mycroft, you defy my expectations, too. I mean, none of my other dates took place immediately my abduction." None of his other dates were well dressed either. His previous dates were just formalilties, just to give a sense of "we're going out" to his relationships, which were often founded after one night stands in the lavatories at the club. He knew Mycroft wasn't like that, that Mycroft was better than that, better than any of his previous relationships. Greg knew that this man was different, and that it was worth the effort to keep him interested.

T: As if putting forth any effort was even necessary. Mycroft was already so enamoured with Lestrade that there was really fairly little that the other man could do to put Mycroft off of him. It might take something as extreme as harming Sherlock- legitimately harming him- for Mycroft to bear any ill will toward the man. Mycroft seriously doubted that would happen, in any case. Mycroft's eyes fell, and then fell closed, both so he did not have to look at Lestrade, and so that he could focus on the feeling of those finger on his face and the warm drag of gravely voice in his ears. "Ah, yes.... I apologize for the inconvenience, however... You should know that kidnappings are a hobby of mine." He'd like to tell Lestrade that he should become acclimated to the thought that Mycroft could and would abduct him at any time and for any reason, but that seemed a bit presumptuous.

R: Greg raised an eyebrow at Mycroft. "Inconvenience? Mycroft, it wasn't an inconvenience at all." It was exciting. The first real time he had tasted danger and thrill and confusion in over seven years, and he needed the adrenaline coursing through his blood. He missed being in life threatening situations, like when he was a young policeman. Greg hoped that knowing Mycroft Holmes, the man who is rumored to be The British Government, and no less no matter what he tells you, would make his boring, dull, mundane, paperwork-filled life worth living again. It would remind him why he was so hellbent on becoming a policeman when he was little. Greg leaned over until he was breathing on Mycroft's ear. He whispered, "D'you know what? I rather liked it."

T: But the moment the words were out of his mouth, Mycroft's hands were out on Greg's shoulder, pushing him away. The only thing to suggest that he might be bothered was the red blush in the tip of his ears, and his pulse hammering at his throat. "I suggest that you refrain from tempting me." Mycroft said, in response to both Greg's words and his actions. "You do not know what kind of trouble you are inviting." If given approval like that, Mycroft would take free reign of his powers. Lestrade might find himself tied to a bed for weeks at a time, or pleasantly drugged one evening, or his workmates might find a scar on his shoulder that looked a little too much like the Holmes family crest for comfort. Mycroft did not want to inflict those things on him. He did not deserve to be a victim to Mycroft's more twisted desires. Luckily for Greg, Mycroft wanted to be by his side enough that he would restrain himself, but it would be very difficult if Lestrade actually provoked him. That, and he might want to stay away from Mycroft's ears while they were in public. They were incredibly sensitive and Greg's flirting was just shy of indecent. Mycroft swallowed and pointedly tried not to think that Greg should also not make offers with his actions that he did not plan to cash in on. He should not tempt Mycroft if Mycroft could not have him, and Mycroft still found it rather hard to believe that Lestrade might desire such a thing.

  
R: Greg's eyebrows wrinkled together in confusion momentarily, then he went back to his former self. Mycroft just needs a bit of encouragement, _that's all_ , he thought. He looked straight into Mycroft's eyes. "Believe me when I say this. I'm always ready for trouble. It's why I became a police officer. And I've known Sherlock for five years, so I know what kinds of troubles the Holmes and their mates face." Greg's tone changed to one of inquiry, almost pleading. "Mycroft, give us a chance. You never know until you try it out, don't you agree? Or does this relate to your job? If so, just tell me, because I understand. It's not worth it to put a bloke like me over national security." Greg looked down and away from Mycroft.

T: Mycroft could see the pain there in an instant, but he wasn't aware that he'd been looking much the same for much of the evening so far. "How easily you as well underestimate yourself." Mycroft said. Technically, Lestrade was right. Mycroft couldn't in good conscience put Greg as a higher priority if the country was actually in danger, but Mycroft only faced situations that severe every few months. The day by day negotiations and paperwork that influenced his domain can and would be set aside if need be, for Lestrade's sake. Luckily, that was not the current situation. "There is nothing about this evening that has to do with business." He said, reassuring his companion.  Mycroft swallowed and continues almost nervously, finding it difficult to get the words out. "I... Would greatly welcome the opportunity to... As you say, "give us a chance". That does not mean that you should not be cautious. If you do not tread careful you will find yourself in the midst of trouble that you WILL find most unwelcome. Do not doubt that." He sipped his wine. "Also, if you act so... Sensually... In public, then you might find yourself kidnapped again, and we'd miss a lovely meal." Mycroft couldn't believe he'd actually said that, and prayed that he wasn't assuming too much.

R: Greg couldn't believe he actually heard Mycroft say that. He turned toward Mycroft, pursed his lips, and raised an eyebrow. "Sensual? You think I've been acting 'sensually'?" He chuckled, almost laughed. In all of his years of dating, he had never heard of another man calling him "sensual," especially for something he did in public. _Perhaps_ , he thought to himself, _he doesn't know what sensual really means_. His heart missed a beat at the prospect of being the one to educate him in that area. He leaned in until his nose was touching Mycroft's. "You haven't seen my sensual side yet."

T: Mycroft stared him in the eyes, unafraid, for as long as he was able, and then pushed him away again with a single decisive arm. "I meant it." He said, propping a menu up in front of his own face, to give himself a bit of privacy while he pulled himself together as well as to choose exactly which delicious, sugary pastry would be helping him keep his cool tonight. The French were magnificent at desserts. Mycroft didn't exactly like pushing Greg away, but he would not be able to stand any more than what the man had already done to him without somehow disgracing himself. He hadn't expected to NEED to push him away, in any case.

R: Greg looked away from Mycroft, picked up his menu, and began selecting his courses for dinner. The waiter had walked by their table for the third time; they still weren't ready to order. He couldn't focus on what to order. He kept wondering if he had insulted Mycroft, or crossed a line with him. He toned it down for their date, but he still felt his behavior was inappropriate. Maybe it was the setting. Such actions in a gourmet five star restaurant were probably not condoned. He had to tell himself that he could not act the way he normally acted at a date, not sitting next to the poshest man in existence. With a sigh, he lowered his menu. "Mycroft, I'm sorry about...er...all that. I probably crossed a line...more like ten. Anyway, I apologize for my indecent behavior, and I'll try to act like a gentleman for the remainder of the evening." Greg looked down at the menu again, trying to decide whether to start with the _soupe d'oignion_ or the _salade verte_.

T: Mycroft could feel how uncomfortable he was, and he was also at a loss for exactly what to say. As Greg tried once more to focus on his menu, Mycroft distacted him again, reaching out to take on of Greg's hands in his own, hands clasped fingers to fingers, so that he could run his thumb against the light, soft hairs on Lestrade's knuckles. "Your actions were not indecent, and you have not crossed any lines." At least, not any that would have been crossed eventually anyway. "I am simply... unused to such gestures, and I am weary of how I may have responded had you continued." Mycroft was a man with plenty of control, but he seemed to have a weakness where Gregory Lestrade was concerned. "There is no need to apologize, but you should know...  You do not need to try and catch my interest with flirtarious actions. I am already interested."

R: "Sorry, it must be force of habit. My previous dates were never this--" he waved his hand around [the one not joined to Mycroft's] "--fancy. I like it, though. A lot more than my other dates, which were often at some random diner or a nightclub. But anyway, thank you very, very much for taking me out to dinner, Mycroft, and I look forward to this wonderful gourmet meal. It's certainly better than the trip to the fast food place I was planning. It's been years since I've worn a bow tie! I feel like such a proper gentleman!" He squeezed Mycroft's hand and smiled. "I think I'm ready to order now. How about you?" The server came by their table for the fifth time. " _Messieurs, vous êtes prêts_?"

T: Mycroft shook his head. "And that, my dear, is a true injustice." He said softly, closing his menu. He smiled up at the server, showing none of the continued nerves he was feeling on the inside, and ordered in clear and proper French. The waiter was good enough at his job to not look at their joined hands too closely as he took Lestrade's order as well, and then departed. "It is a crime that you have not been properly appreciated in the past, Detective Inspector." Mycroft wasn't trying to win Greg over with his money, but on the other hand, he really did want to treat Greg well, and he really had thought he'd needed all the help he could get.

R: "Nah," said Greg. "I was pretty much asking for it. I...didn't treat myself with respect, so I guess I didn't expect anyone else to. D'you know, at uni, the boys used to say, pardon my language, that 'Greg sucks off anyone's cock behind the water boiler for twenty quid'? And the worst part? It's true. That's exactly what I did. And it wasn't just blow jobs behind the water boiler. I did hand jobs for ten, and...sorry, I should stop now. I wasn't proud of who I was back then. I did it for the money. I had to pay those fees somehow. My dad died when I was only two, and my mom stayed home and took care of us. I was the eldest. I was the one who had to earn the money. But at uni, one day, when I was piss drunk, I went in for a tattoo. No one hired me once they saw that tattoo, and it was very visible. So, I had to make money. What else could I do?" He sighed and looked down, at their joined hands. "I honestly don't know why I'm telling you this. I barely even know you, and here I am, pouring my heart and life story out to you. Sorry about that."

T: Normally, Mycroft would consider his sensibilities bruised, but Greg was exactly right. Why was he telling Mycroft all of this? Mycroft knew enough to guess that perhaps now that Greg had someone treating him well for the first time in... Well, far too long, if ever, he might feel the need to share himself with someone, his innermost demons that he felt compelled to get off his chest. Instantly, Mycroft felt a pang of pain for the man, not necessarily because of the hardships he'd gone through when he was young, but because he had no one to share these  kind of things with, that he was so desperate for someone to listen to him that he'd tell all of these tales at such an inappropriate time. Mycroft resolved that he would always be someone worthy of being told Greg's secrets.  Mycroft lifted Lestrade's hand to his lips, and he kissed his knuckles softly before letting the hand fall back to the table, sandwiched affectionately between two of his own. Mycroft wanted to fix all of Greg's ills, wanted to hold him tight and kiss away any disrespect or ridicule he'd ever had reflected at him, and erase any self doubt with heartfelt praise. That, however, implied that Lestrade would become his, and his alone.... That their relationship would turn into something that would last long enough for Mycroft to truly protect him from these kinds of hurtful things.  Instead he said, "I will take every opportunity offered me to show you the respect you truly deserve."

R: Greg did not know what to say to Mycroft, a man he barely knew, yet treated him better than anyone else in his entire life, even his own mother. Better than any of his mates at uni. Better than his rugger mates. Better than Sherlock, by a long shot. Better than everyone at the Yard, put together. He had forgiven Mycroft for abducting him a long, long time ago, and instead began thinking of ways to repay him. How could Greg possibly repay Mycroft for being the kindest person he's ever met? He was there to listen to him go on about his life and not interrupt or complain. He was there to treat him with respect when others have left him stranded in life. What could he possibly do? What could Greg possibly _say_? "Thank you, Mycroft," he said at last. His voice barely rose to a whisper.

T: Mycroft's thumbs slowly stroked over the warm callouses on Greg's hand.  After a moment, Mycroft shook his head. "No, Detective Inspector. Thank you for deeming me trustworthy enough to hear what you had to say." He let his eyes slide shut. He wanted to do so much more than simply hold Greg's hand at the moment. He wanted to hold him close, away from all those others who took advantage of him, shielding him from everything and enveloping him in comforting, loving warmth. He wanted to kiss him, the kind of kiss that would tell him just how worthy of a respectful relationship he really was. But Mycroft wasn't quite bold enough for those things. Not in this, not with something so important.

R: Greg never felt safer with another person in his life, not even his family. Mycroft may have kidnapped him, which made him very suspicious of the man, but the recent turn of events made him trust the man more than anyone else. "I didn't have to tell you any of that. You could have found out all of that by pulling up government records and all. And you don't need me to tell you anything. You have those CCTVs planted all over London and god knows where else. But thank you for...being here for me, I guess." Greg looked up when the server arrived with their beginning courses, their _hors d'oeuvres_ , and thanked the _garçon_ in French, his hands still joined to Mycroft's.

T: Mycroft watched the food come for a long, awkward moment, before he disentangled just one of his hands from Greg's, letting the other stay in the tight, warm grip. He pushed his food around on the plate for a moment. "CCTV Cameras don't see into the back rooms of tattoo parlors where people make life altering mistakes. They don't know what tattoo you got where, or why." Mycroft found that he wanted to know all of these things, but he wouldn't ask, in case they were too personal for Greg to discuss. "And government records don't know what the other men at Uni used to say about you, or that it was true, or how much money the truth was worth or why. Surveillance cannot see a person's feelings, does not know their motives or their pain or their need." Mycroft shook his head, and looked up at Greg, staring straight into his eyes. "Don't doubt the value of what you've told me, or the trust it took to tell me so. These are not things that are easy to learn, but they are the most critical information of all." Mycroft shook his head. "I just hope that you will continue to find me as trustworthy in the future." He said softly.

R: "You're right. You're...you're absolutely right." Greg nodded slowly. "D'you know how helpful it might have been if I had known you back then? I would have been much, much better off. But this is nice, too. This is very, very nice." Greg noticed that they had been holding hands for a very long time, and he didn't mind. He rather liked it. It felt soothing, calming, safe. It wasn't like holding hands in uni on the way to the water boiler room, discussing and bargaining rates. He wanted so badly to forget that chapter of his life ever happened. He wanted to think of that very moment he held hands with Mycroft Holmes as the starting point of his life, and go from there. Because he finally got a guardian angel, someone to look out for him. Greg motioned to the food that had just arrived. "Er...shall we?"

T: Mycroft felt it as well. Felt like he was responsible for something that really mattered. It wasn't the UN, which was a pain, that he was responsible for keeping up proper relations with. This was Greg. Greg's life and Greg's feelings and Greg's salvation that he was in charge of. Mycroft did not consider himself the nurturing type, but he felt honored to be able to play this role for Lestrade. "I rather wish you had known me then too." He said, before he tucked into his food. Mycroft would have like to be there to beat the snot out of anyone caught belittling his sweetheart- Because surely, back then, they would have been, wouldn't they? Perhaps. He would have liked to fix Greg's every problem. Now all he could do was try to remind Greg that there was a future ahead, and that the facets of the path didn't matter a bit.

R: Greg made his way through his salad, thanking his stars that he could end up with a man as brilliant as Mycroft. That is, if Greg doesn't put him off completely. But after all this, Greg couldn't help but wonder what Mycroft's past was like. He wondered how much of an impact it had on him as a young adult. Was Mycroft just like is now? Was Mycroft a rebel? Druggie? Greg just wanted to know. "Mycroft, you don't have to tell me this if you don't want to, but what were your days as a youngster like? Full of excitement, I assume? Top of your class? I'm...curious, that's all. Nothing more. Don't mean to, er...pry."

T: Mycroft regarded him steadily. He wasn't one to talk about himself in the way that Greg was asking, but he really didn't mind... And besides that, Greg had already revealed so much about himself. Mycroft finished the bite he was taking, and went into a bit of a description. "I was, in fact, top of my class... And the youngest member." He didn't mean to show off, he truly didn’t, but Lestrade had asked... He'd been top of his college graduating class at the age of sixteen, and then he'd been immediately recruited by the government. "As I child I spent an exorbitant amount of time reading, but even more spent challenging my brother. He was extraordinary straight from the womb." Mycroft shook his head. "My job right now is what many would consider exiting, but the truth of the matter is that my life has not been very interesting at all." He fiddled with the silver band on his right ring finger. He'd gone through his own angst, though. "As a young man I spent much of my time courting a young woman."

R: Greg looked at Mycroft with nothing but respect. This genius was sitting next to him, holding his hand, listening to him spew out his life story, and slowly revealing details of his own life. He thought about how lucky he must be to hear Mycroft's past. He glanced at the silver band on Mycroft's hand. Mycroft? With a woman? He had never thought about Mycroft ever being in a relationship before, especially not a young Mycroft. Greg had so many questions. He started with "Well, what happened?"

T: Mycroft frowned at the little band. He didn't particularly like recalling the story, but Greg had asked, and after what Greg had told him, he deserved something as close to Mycroft's heart to know, a bitter secret. His eyes stayed on the glittering silver of the token as he spoke. "I courted her for just under two years. Many evenings spent together in nooks and crannies of libraries studying and discussing, with no other purpose than to enjoy each other's company. When she left for the summers, we kept in touch through handwritten correspondence.  Very rarely would she allow me to take her anywhere, but she would never deny me the pleasure of spending an afternoon with her inside. Sometimes she would let me watch her paint." Mycroft took a sip of his wine, trying to wash out images of her. "I was enthralled with her, as you can imagine. Not simply infatuated, in love." A small smile teased his lips. "Finally, she agreed to marry me." He let his eyes fall closed. "After two blissful weeks, she perished in an automobile accident. Her name was Lorena."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade invites Mycroft back to his flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an RP with the magnificent and incredibly legit Taylor [shoveaspockinit | tumblr]. Posts marked with an "R" are mine, and those marked with a "T" are hers.
> 
> As much as we would love to, we don't own Mycroft or Lestrade. They belong to the geniuses Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.

R: Greg was silent for a while. He didn't know what to say to Mycroft. _Poor guy_ , he thought, _their relationship seemed so beautiful_! It was exactly the kind of relationship he'd always hoped for and never had. A relationship for enjoying the other's company, not just for sex. Greg spent much of his childhood consoling his mother about his father's death, yet he was unable to do the same to Mycroft. Greg's parents, based on what he heard from older cousins, never loved each other. They had a one night stand at a small, rowdy bar, and thus Greg was conceived. They married as soon as they verified that Greg's father, who was a very affectionate and considerate man, was indeed the man Greg's mother had met in the bar. They never loved each other, which was why consoling his mother was easy. But now, he was faced with consoling a man who had known true love. He sat there, wondering why the worst of tragedies happened to the best of people, like Mycroft. Unable to form words, Greg put his hand, the one not currently in Mycroft's grip, on Mycroft's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze.

T: Mycroft gave him a smile at the same time as he straightened himself up, returning himself from memory lane. "You need not worry yourself over it, Detective Inspector. It will have been sixteen years I was without her next month. I shall never forget her, but the wound is no longer fresh."Mycroft thought about her every day, still, kept the reminder of her on his finger at all times, but he wasn't crippled by despair every time he saw the silver band either. In fact, often when he saw it, he remembered some wonderful time he'd spent with her, or some perfect feature of her, and he smiled softly. He'd loved her very, very much. Still, Greg's trying to console him created a warm glow in Mycroft's chest, and he could not help but feel thankful for the man's comfort. "You simply asked for me to tell you something about my past... I decided that you should know of my deepest regrets as well.”

R: “Well, why don’t we start talking about something…happier? Like this salad. _Mon dieu, les français sont géniaux quand il s’agit de la cuisine_! How is your soup, Mycroft?” It had been ages since Greg had eaten anything remotely resembling restaurant-quality food. For years, he lived on burgers, chips, cola, and boxes and boxes of takeaway. He knew all the takeaway places within ten blocks of his flat on a first name basis. Sometimes, when he didn’t have time for takeaway, he settled for a bowl of popcorn or crisps. Never anything this fancy. And Greg was thoroughly enjoying it.

T: Mycroft gave one of his small, polite smiles at Lestrade. " _C'est fantastique_." He said, enjoying some more of it. He'd always loved onion soup, especially the cheesy crouton that floated up by the top. " _Je suis content que vous l'aimiez_." And it was true. He'd wanted Lestrade to enjoy the evening, after all. He hadn't meant to let the conversation get so maudlin, but it really couldn't be prevented, could it? Mycroft was glad to listen to Greg when he needed it, and he was even glad to share of himself for Greg's curiosity. "I have to say that this is one of the most successful abductions I've ever experienced." He hoped the clever little joke would also help take Greg's mind off of more hurtful subjects, for now.

R: "Oh?" Greg was curious now. He had heard that Mycroft enjoyed abducting people for the weirdest reasons. He remembered John telling him about the time Mycroft abducted him, shortly after he met Sherlock. It was about Mycroft trying to get John to spy on Sherlock for a considerable sum of money. John had joked that if he had known just how rich Mycroft was, he would have taken him up on his offer. Even Sherlock considered it an extra source of revenue rather than a threat to his security. John always referred to Mycroft as the most filthy rich, clever, and dangerous man he ever heard of. And Greg finally knew what John meant. "So...who else have you abducted? The Queen herself?" Greg inquired with a smirk.

T: The pouting frown Mycroft gave Greg almost seemed hurt. "That would be rather rude, wouldn't it? You can't imagine I'd actually manhandle or coerce the Queen to come have a chat with me?" He shook his head. "That would be unpatriotic and..." He was thoroughly disgusted with the idea. After a moment he rallied himself again. "I have, however, abducted the Prime Minister. Twice." Now his smile was charming once more. He truly didn't mean to gloat, but Lestrade had asked and... Honestly, Mycroft just wanted to impress the man. He wanted Greg to like him.

R: _So_. Greg thought to himself. _Mycroft's a patriotic fellow._ _I'll be sure to make a note of that_. "Mycroft, I was just kidding when I said the Queen. But really? The Prime Minister? You must be pretty powerful then. So, what is it that you do? You don't have to tell me if you're not allowed to, but I was just curious." Forcing the Prime Minister to listen to Mycroft, or bribing him, or brainwashing him, or whatever it was that Mycroft attempted to do must mean that Mycroft was in a position of extreme power. Greg could clearly see why John always says that Mycroft is very, very dangerous.

T: Mycroft heaved a long sigh. "Would it be difficult to believe if I told you that I tire of questions about my profession? Everyone is always so interested... I have nothing to tell them." He shook his head. He knew that his job might seem glamorous or interesting, but the reality of it was cold and dark. The reality of his job hurt him. He had to travel places and see things that hurt. He had to make decisions that hurt people. Sometimes he had to plunge entire lands into war or redirect support from famine. It was not easy, being Mycroft, or doing Mycroft's job. Of course, it wasn't as if anything about Mycroft was interesting that didn't have to do with his work, so Mycroft couldn't exactly blame Lestrade. "I will tell you these things. I am powerful, yes. So powerful that I am allowed to tell you anything that I please. I am wise enough to tell you very little, other than this: No matter how high up you are, or just how critical your decisions wind up being, you still have a backbreaking amount of paperwork to do."

R: Greg chuckled. "Oh, yes. I can attest to that. I've been plagued with paperwork ever since I became a DI. You know, I still have mountains of paperwork sitting on my desk at home, all of which I need to complete by tomorrow..." He rubbed his forehead at the thought of staying up until three or four in the morning just to get the paperwork done. Greg had been through worse, though. It wasn't new to him. In fact, staying up until four am was becoming increasingly common ever since Sherlock began showing up at crime scenes. With an increasing success rate came an increasing amount of paperwork.

T: Mycroft shook his head. "It's been taken care of.  Everything is being filled out, signed, and photocopied as we speak. By experts." There it was again, that touch of bashful red on Mycroft's earlobes. "It was a rather embarrassing favor to ask our counterfeiting department, but I have been quite generous to them in Christmases past, so...This time, I would like you to relax and enjoy the evening. Do not think of the parts of your work that stress you. Or anything that stresses you, in fact. Think positive thoughts, or try. Just for this evening."

R: It was Greg's turn to feel flustered. "Wh...How...I...Wow, Mycroft! Er...thank you very much! I really don't know how to...Just...Thank you." Greg's eyes were welling up. How could anyone be THIS nice to him? How was it possible? Greg hadn't done anything near as kind to Mycroft, but still...He really didn't understand how Sherlock could insult Mycroft, the kindest soul Greg had ever met. "Look, not that you'll need it, because you have connections and resources beyond my imagination, but if at all you need help from me in any way, you just let me know. Give me a call or something. I'd be more than happy to help you."

T: Mycroft gave another little frown. "Detective Inspector, I don't know if you've noticed this but I'm a go-getter. As in, if there is something I want or need, I will go get it, and I will succeed whenever necessary." He didn't mean it to sound like a rejection or an insult. "Everything I have ever wanted from you, you have decided to give me, this very day." He swallowed nervously, not sure if his point was getting across. "I want to have dinner with you. You agree to it. I want to sit close by and enjoy your company. I wanted to touch you and..." Mycroft squeezed his hand. "You have given me more than you know."

R: "Well, Mycroft, that's because I wanted it too. I've been waiting for it for a while, and I wanted to have dinner with you and keep you company too." It had been a long while since Greg felt this strongly about enjoying another person's company, and not just having sex with them. Though Greg didn't particularly like to admit it, wanting to enjoy someone's company for the sake of enjoying company was very, very rare in his life. He toyed with the silver band on his finger.

T: "I am actually rather surprised by that fact." He said softly. "I didn't think that- Well." He hadn't thought that Greg would ever have agreed to this if he'd just asked, and he hadn't thought that Greg would be so receptive to his advances. He'd thought that this would be an awkward affair, where he pulled out all the stops to impress Lestrade, and confessed his intentions at the end, and pray that the copper found some reason or another to accept his offer, whether it be Mycroft's wealth or his intellect or even his wit. Mycroft knew that he had much to offer a potential partner, but he also knew that he was lacking in my of the traditional areas- Sex appeal, for instance, flirting, experience. All of those things had been on the list of what attracted him to Greg, after all. This whole evening with Greg had been, well, a shot in the dark. But it had been necessary. His desire had started to interfere with his sleep, and that was unacceptable, so he accepted the fact that he had to take some kind of action, and pray for the best. He'd gotten more than he'd ever expected. As for Lestrade, had he truly been thinking of this for a while? And yet he was so unprepared for this kind of evening, and probably even this kind of relationship... Noticing Greg playing with a ring on his finger, Mycroft wondered if Greg had ever been in a relationship that wasn't just a farce to create mutual sexual gratification. Not that mutual sexual gratification was off the table in this case, but Mycroft wanted Greg in more than just his bed. He wanted him in his home, in his life. Mycroft hadn't ever really dated, because that implied not knowing what you wanted, and having to sift through people to find someone who fit the bill. Mycroft only courted. He knew who he wanted and he wanted them absolutely, and he did whatever he could to have them. It didn't matter that this was only the second time he'd ever courted someone. By the very nature of the thing, it didn't need to create a clear trend. Mycroft wondered how long exactly Greg had been wanting this. He wondered if it had been as long as Mycroft had. Mycroft even wondered for a dizzying, insane moment if Lestrade's interest in him could actually be emotion, as deep as the emotion that was gripping Mycroft that very second. Mycroft had been attracted to Lestrade from their very first meeting, at a crime scene where he'd been bothering Sherlock just for the fun of it, twirling his umbrella and flinging tiny bits of shrapnel at his younger brother in the form of intelligent words. It was rather intense lust, at the time, the kind that Mycroft felt only rarely, and often only at celebrity functions where those in attendance were born and bred to be beautiful. It wasn't until the second time they happened to meet that Mycroft's regard for Lestrade actually began to develop. Mycroft had noticed his dedication to his rather thankless job, and he'd noticed how trustworthy he truly was, something that was so lacking in Mycroft's profession. He'd seen that Lestrade had a wit of his own, not quite as sharp as Mycroft's but original. That had been enough to have Mycroft redirecting his business closer and closer to the yard for the last several months, and from there Mycroft's intense feelings for Greg were quick to develop. It had been a while for him, too.

R: "Why are you surprised by that? I thought you knew I...well, that I fancy you. I've fancied you since the first time we saw each other, in the building near the London Eye. You were mercilessly teasing your brother, distracting him from the case. Not that I minded, really...I was more concentrated on your...er...suit. It was a very nice suit. It suited you rather well." Greg became aware of his gushing, and stopped, ears, cheek, and nose going embarrassingly red. Mycroft was...different from any of the other men Greg had had his eyes on in the past. Mycroft may not have been as forward or as sex-driven, but there was something, something that had driven Greg to the man in the first place; Greg didn't know what it was. It was beyond words, beyond anything Greg had ever experienced.

T: Mycroft's eyes watched the man as he spoke. Bashfulness. Then embarrassment. And... Honesty. Mycroft was not one hundred percent accurate, but it was almost impossible to lie to him. And Lestrade wasn't. Their first meeting, really? A rather long time, then.  Mycroft  paused for a moment, looking down at his empty soup bowl, and then back up at Lestrade. "Thank you. I'm sure you've noticed that I pay a great deal of attention to such things. As for your...feelings... I didn't know. As I said, cameras do not know everything, and I know a great many things, but this is an area I am... Unversed in the details of. I do know, however, that the day we met you were also wearing a suit coat, a little worse for the wear but fitting, and that the pink shirt you wore beneath has the top two buttons undone and that your neck... Well." He decided to stop himself. His ears were red for the third time that evening.

R: Greg grinned from ear-to-ear when he heard Mycroft compliment his neck. He chuckled, "Thanks, Mycroft." He felt like he was talking to his primary school crush, Danny Hester. He remembered trying to confess his affection for him. His breath caught in his throat and he was unable to form words. Danny had just smiled and given him his water bottle, and stroked his back as Greg poured the cool water into his mouth. After Greg had given Danny back his bottle, they talked about the substitute teacher that day and how she didn't let them eat snacks in class. After a long pause, Greg had said, "Danny, I think I like you. Not like friends, but...I like you." Danny had given Greg a smirk, pushed a hair behind his ear, and said "I know, Greg, and I like you too." They hugged. Danny didn't show up the next day. Or the day after that. He was transferred to another school. Mycroft's smirk as he mentioned Greg's neck reminded Greg of Danny's smile. Greg tightened his grip on Mycroft's hand. He couldn't lose Mycroft, not like he lost Danny. Greg would do anything to make Mycroft stay, anything in the world. He looked just in time to see the _garçon_ walk up to their table with their main courses, or _entrées_.

T: Mycroft didn't have any such experiences. The only one he could compare Greg to was Lorena. They were so very different, and yet... Trustworthy, the both of them, and... Same sense of humor. Though Mycroft had a feeling that Greg would be much more willing to put up with Mycroft’s own personal brand of silliness than she'd been, as she was far more serious and far more stubborn than Greg. Physically they were polar opposites, but that didn't matter nearly as much. On reflection, Mycroft found that he admired Lestrade much more for his character, and Lorena more for her intellect, but that wasn't to say that either of them were lacking in either area. What really made them dead even was the nervous flip-flop in his stomach when he saw them, the delight when they smiled at him, his need to be near them, and the iron determination to make them his. Mycroft did not disentangle their hands, even when the _entrées_ came. "You're very welcome." He replied, taking a bite instead of telling Lestrade of the shameful number of times he'd imagined that throat under his lips since that day.

R: Greg took a bite of the _bœuf bourguignon aux tagliatelles_ he had ordered and deemed it infinitely more pleasing than the chicken teriyaki he ate five nights out of seven. _I should come here more often_ , he thought. He took a look around again and decided that each of the napkins costed more than his couch. He also snuck a peak at other tables. He was so wrapped up in his and Mycroft's conversation that he had not noticed the other tables. Some diners were shooting looks of contempt and disgust in their direction, something Greg was accustomed to, given his practices at uni. But most diners were looking over at his and Mycroft's table and talking to other diners in excited, hushed whispers. He picked up the words "brave," "adorable," and "handsome." He could have sworn he saw a flash from a camera out of the corner of his eye. He forced himself to look down at his _bœuf_ and continue eating, his hand still wrapped inside Mycroft's.

T: Mycroft did not give a single fuck about the other patrons’ opinions of him or his preferences, but as he saw Lestrade look around at the other tables, his grip on Lestrade's hand tightened just a little. "Would you rather be alone? I can have this restaurant cleared of everyone but us and the wait staff in about six minutes." He doubted the owner would ever give him a favor again. "Or we could leave, have our food wrapped for later, and go someplace more private. It is my sincere wish that you are able to relax this evening, and if the public setting bothers you I would rather have that changed than watch you grin and bear it."

R: "Can we do the...the second one? I am also getting kind of full. We can go back to mine and have dessert there. I have a red velvet cake the Homicide Department gave me for my birthday a couple days ago. What do you say?" Greg desperately wanted to leave. He felt out of place; the restaurant made him feel too stiff and formal. Also, going back to his flat would make him feel more comfortable and at home...he just hoped Mycroft wouldn't feel out of place at his flat. He wondered if the man ever wore anything aside from that three piece suit. Not that Greg complained, not at all. It highlighted some of Mycroft's very best features, though Greg found himself fantasizing about how much better those...features would look in a pair of Sherlock's jeans more times than he'd ever admit.

T: Mycroft took a moment of pause as he realized he was being invited back to Lestrade's flat. He was more than ready to pack up and leave to someplace more comfortable, but he hadn't thought that Lestrade's flat would be that place. Mycroft took out his phone to signal his cabbie, and then immediately signaled their waiter to pack up their meals.  As long as there was still cake in store tonight, Mycroft thought he could probably keep his cool through the mind-numbingly intimate feeling of being in Lestrade's home, even if it was just for dessert. He didn't want Lestrade to feel uneasy, after all. That would be counter-productive. "That sounds lovely." He responded. "Though it's upsetting to learn that I've missed your birthday." He hadn't. He knew exactly when Greg's birthday was, and he knew that it had been a shit birthday this year. Mycroft hadn't known what gift to get him. He wanted desperately to send him something wonderful, but they weren't really close enough for him to send anything more than a card, and maybe some flowers or an edible arrangement, but that was not enough. So he'd abstained completely. Perhaps now he could get Lestrade the kind of gift he'd wanted to get in the first place, only even more extravagant as apology for being late.

R: As soon as the words left his mouth, Greg realized that Mycroft may have taken him the wrong way when he asked him to come back to his flat. He hadn't meant to imply any sort of...later activities. Greg wouldn't mind if they had sex later. Actually, he had fantasized about that quite a bit, again more times than he'd ever admit. He just hoped Mycroft understood that Greg wasn't implying that they'd have sex later, and just wanted to go to a place he would be comfortable in, and also show Mycroft that he's ready to bring Mycroft into his life. He had been waiting for an opportunity to do so, but he could never figure out exactly how. And this seemed like a perfect opportunity to drop the hint. He saw the expression on Mycroft's face change, and for a second, Greg thought he had crossed a line with him, or something, and that Mycroft would end their date then and there. Instead, he was pleasantly surprised when Mycroft accepted. He didn't believe for a second that Mycroft had missed his birthday. Greg had memorized the date of Mycroft's birthday [June 27], and he thought that if he could do it, Mycroft would have done it, and more. _Maybe_ , he thought, _this is my birthday_ present. If it was indeed his birthday present, it would be the best one he had ever received in his entire life. His mother was not particularly generous with things that weren't necessities, including birthday presents. For his sixteenth, he had gotten a pair of gloves to keep his hands from freezing in the winter. But that itself was a luxury, considering that his family wasn't very well off. "Mycroft, I'll gladly consider this to be my birthday present. If I do, this is the best present I've ever gotten. Thank you so, so much." Greg could feel his eyes welling up again. "Well then," he said, edging out of his seat, "Shall we?"

T: As they got up, Mycroft wondered if he was allowed to be a bit more intimate as they left. He had something in mind, but he wasn't sure if it would be welcome- If it would be too close for comfort for Lestrade or if it would bother him because of the submissive implications (which were not Mycroft's purpose at all, by the way) or for some other reason. Mycroft decided that he would chance it, and as he stood and stepped to Lestrade's side, he placed his hand low on Lestrade's back, in a possessive gesture. As he listened to Lestrade speak, he felt a stab of pain in his chest. Mycroft's family had been exactly the opposite. Gifts of all kinds were forthcoming constantly. The material value of such things was negligible of course, but like any gift, they could also carry a personal value to them, and that made them wonderful. Especially any gifts from Sherlock. They were rare, certainly. "Nonsense." He said, almost harshly. He hated the idea that this might be Lestrade's best gift ever, after all these years. He tipped his head to speak softly into Lestrade's ear as he left. "You'll receive a proper birthday present from me soon. There is no reason for me to offer this as a birthday present when I initiated it for my own purposes, and when I have the resources to get you a birthday present more fitting for my regard for you."

R: Greg shuddered slightly when he felt Mycroft's hand on his back, but leaned closer toward Mycroft. Mycroft was a fast learner. He was already learning how to drop subtle hints, and Greg was more than pleased. A hand on his back meant Mycroft was being a bit possessive of him. It also meant an increased change of them having sex. Greg tried to shake that thought out of his mind, as he had no intention of going down the one-night-stand route again anytime soon, but he would be lying if he said that thought wasn't on his mind all throughout their meal. He closed his eyes and bit his lip as he felt the heat of Mycroft's breath on his ear. "Another present, Mycroft? You don't have do to all this, I'm sure. This is already such a wonderful present, and I'm at an absolute loss of how to possibly repay you for...well...everything you've done for me tonight." He and Mycroft walked out of the doors and into the familiar black car the same way they had entered the restaurant -- holding hands. This time, Greg didn't bother looking at the other tables. He couldn't give a rat's arse about what the others thought of him and Mycroft. The only that mattered to him was that Mycroft was coming over to his flat. Nothing else was on his mind. He didn't even bother asking Mycroft if his driver knew the way to his flat. He just assumed he did, and frankly Greg didn't care. Being able to spend time with Mycroft was a present in itself, as his schedule allowed him practically no free time. Greg wondered at how many strings he had to pull to have this evening off with no disturbances and no PA following him around everywhere. Greg was in awe of the miracles this man was capable of.

T: Lestrade just didn't get it, did he? Perhaps Mycroft just hadn't explained it well enough. He was still shy and nervous, in his own calm way, but he didn't see any need to belabour the point. Especially not now that they were in relative privacy. "The only thing I wanted from you in return was for you to take my advances seriously and consider a relationship between us honestly." He shook his head. "I cannot imagine that you haven't done just that, and what’s more, you have put such great trust in me, and proposed that we continue our evening even after dinner has ended." Mycroft shook his head. "You underestimate the value of spending extra time with you, Detective Inspector, just as you underestimate the value of your trust. What you have given me is no small matter, and in exchange things that I can procure for you simply through money and influence are hardly significant." Anthea had been worried sick to have the evening off. Not that she couldn't take care of herself, but she didn't know how Mycroft could cope without her coordinating all of his background noise and silencing his overimaginitive mind before it came up with anything too absurd. It was a service that Mycroft hadn't even realized he'd needed until Lorena had come and done it for him. The things that Anthea and Lorena had in common were almost worrying, but in reality they were no big deal. His regard for Anthea did surpass professionalism, but he did not harbor a single romantic thought toward her. She lacked the sweetness that Lorena had, and while that made her an invaluable business associate, it did not make her wife material. Greg, however... He could give Lorena a run for her money.

R: In the car, Greg reluctantly put his hand on Mycroft's knee. "Oh, Mycroft, you've really got to stop making me blush!" He leaned back on the expensive leather seats and rolled his head so he could look out the tinted window. He bit his lip and considered himself the luckiest man alive to be so well cared for by someone as amazing as Mycroft Holmes. He thought about what Sherlock's reaction would be when he hears about them, because he will hear one way or the other. He'd probably through a fit. Poor John. He'd have to deal with Sherlock. He respected and even revered John for the patience he had for dealing with Sherlock. Greg never considered himself to be very patient. He always thought of himself as someone who expects immediate results, which is why he was disappointed at his first day on the job as a young copper. There were no crime scenes, no bank robberies, no high-speed chase scenes, nothing. Just someone speeding. He was thoroughly disappointed, and even considered leaving the Met. But he couldn't. He had to put food on his family's table; his younger brother, the next-oldest in his family, wasn't even out of school yet. He had to wait until his brother got a job for Greg to be able to conduct his life independently, and he did just that.

T: Little did Lestrade know that he would never have money related concerns again. Mycroft was exorbitantly wealthy, due to the three way influence of his wealthy upbringing, his outrageously important and therefore well paying job, and his dabbling in the New York Stock Exchange. Mycroft had more money than he knew what to do with, honestly. Mycroft hesitated for a moment before he let his own hand settle on top of Greg's hand on his knee. He was a bit quieter when he responded, a bit embarrassed himself. "What motivation do I have to do that? Your blush is lovely."He shook his head. "On the subject of superficial things that can be purchased... You said earlier that you didn't ask me to dinner before because you did not think you had the money for it." Mycroft shook his head. "That shall NEVER be an issue." He shook his head. "If I want to do expensive things, I'll pay for them myself. If you want to... Date me... I would rather focus on what we experience together than on something expensive. I daresay that a simply walk would delight me just as much as our dinner this evening. So... Please do not discourage yourself on such small issues."

R: Greg turned back toward Mycroft. He couldn't help but let a wide grin form on his face. He had more proof that Mycroft Holmes was different from all the other men he was involved with. The other men -- the ones who weren't Greg's clients at uni -- made Greg pay for everything, even though they had substantially more money than he did. Greg was used to grudgingly fishing out his wallet and paying for whatever he had to pay for. Even though oftentimes that meant forgoing chicken teriyaki for pizza the next week, he did it, because he felt he had no other choice. But this evening, Mycroft had made sure Greg left his wallet and his phone at home. Greg looked forward to a life not filled with takeout every day, something more substantial, healthier, and food that would finally stop causing all sorts of gastrointestinal problems. But Greg gave himself a mental shake. He mustn't count his chickens before they've hatched. There was still going back to the flat, and Greg was absolutely determined to not mess it up.

T: Mycroft took in the grin, and he was glad that Greg was happy to have the responsibility of paying off of his shoulders, but Mycroft wasn't sure he got the point. If Mycroft wanted someone with money, he had a wide range of suitors and beautiful women who would love to marry him and mingle funds. Of course, this was not the case. Mycroft wanted GREG. His bank account had nothing to do with it.  As for dating... Mycroft had never really dated anyone in his life, and he wasn't sure if he was fond of the idea.  He'd been very enthusiastic about it when he was younger, but Lorena would have none of it, preferring to stay in. Now, he found that he preferred the idea of a night in with Lestrade to a night out. Luckily, they were getting to that portion of the evening right then. Soon they'd pulled up to Lestrade's flat, and Mycroft and his umbrella got out of the car to follow Lestrade into his flat.

R: Greg got out of the car and walked up the two flights of stairs to his flat, Mycroft trailing behind the entire time. He took his spare keys from under the plant -- Mycroft had pushed Greg out of his flat with absolutely nothing, not even his keys -- and unlocked the door. He tossed the key back into the pot and stepped in, giving Mycroft room to follow him into the living room. Greg closed the door and bolted it. "So...er...welcome to my flat. Make yourself comfortable. Just...don't mind the mess. I get time to clean up only around Wednesdays or Thursdays, usually. D'you want something to drink? Beer? Orange juice? Water? And d'you want that cake now or later?" He wasn't used to having guests over at his place, which was a mess six days of the week. But Greg did know how to be hospitable. And he would be as hospitable to Mycroft as he possibly could. "Would you excuse me for a moment, actually?" Greg walked over to his room to see if his paperwork had really been filled out. He trusted Mycroft's word, but he felt like seeing the miracle before his own eyes. Lo and behold, all of the paperwork was neatly stacked in one tall pile in the center of the desk. He walked over to it and picked a few papers off the top of the pile. They were filled out and signed just like he did, even better than he did. He walked back into the living room, where Mycroft was. "Your people...they're...miracle workers. You have no idea how much work that saved me." He gave Mycroft another ear-to-ear smile and felt himself reddening, for the umpteenth time that night.

T: Mycroft stepped in and instantly was barraged by so many things that were so very, very Lestrade. The flat was a little disorganized, but not truly messy. Mycroft decided it was best to toe his shoes off all the same, and the feeling of plush carpet beneath his thin black socks made him feel rather at home. Everything about Lestrade's flat spoke of the comfort of a real home, and Mycroft could see evidence all around the flat from Greg's use of it, from the birthday cards still lined up on the mantle to the indent of Greg's head left on the arm of the sofa where he'd fallen asleep watching some no doubt mindless television after an exhausting day. There were clean dishes sitting in the drying rack, ready to be put away, and there was half a tub of water in Lestrade's one-cup coffee maker. The decor was much the same, light and simple, but comfortable everywhere, from simple beiges and grays that were easy on the eyes to the furniture, which looked like it could gobble you up. It even smelled rather like Lestrade. Like hazelnut coffee and earth and the tiniest telltale hint of tobacco smoke, from before Greg had quit. The entire place was intoxicating. "Actually, I think I would fancy a beer." He said, with a small smile. He didn't usually partake in beer, even when he was on location to sample the finest house lagers in England, but Mycroft could not think of a beverage that was more at home in a flat like this. At Greg's smile, Mycroft smiled back. "I rather think I do, and that was the point." He'd known where Greg was going, and having it confirmed for him only made him smile. Once in a while Lestrade could be predictable.

R: "Beer, then." He went to the fridge and got two cans of beer. "Have a seat on the sofa, Mycroft. No need to stand around in here. Make yourself at home." He came into the living room and sat next to Mycroft [a little bit too close, he admits to himself. Their legs were touching, but Mycroft didn't seem to flinch or take his leg away]. Greg opened his can of beer with a loud click and took a nice gulp. After a particularly stressing day at the Yard and a surprising evening at the restaurant, Greg found the cool beer was the perfect way to relax slightly. He took his [well, Mycroft's] blazer and bowtie off, neatly placed it on the coffee table, and leaned back, resting his arms up under his neck. He let out a long, tired sigh. "So, er...how was your day? Before you gave me that surprise visit, that is," said Greg, in an effort to make conversation.

T: Mycroft did sit, right next to the armrest where Lestrade's head had recently rested, so he could run his fingers gently, reverently over the slight indent. As Greg sat next to him and Mycroft turned his head to look at him, his hand itched to run his fingers through Greg's actual hair, which looked lovely and soft and full, and the fact that it was graying, giving his whole head a silver quality, didn't bother Mycroft in the slightest. Instead, he took a long drink from the offered can, enjoying the completely common and refreshing taste of it, before he set it on a coaster. He followed Lestrade's lead by taking off his own jacket, as well as his vest, and he loosened his tie an inch or two. The crisp white fabric followed along the broad, square lines of his body deliciously, and truth be told, he was relieved of the chance to be a bit more casual. It all felt rather intimate, in fact. Almost as intimate as Lestrade's leg resting warm up against Mycroft's own. Mycroft made no motion to move away. He was, however, surprised when he heard Lestrade's question. He hadn't heard that particular question in a very long time. Naturally, Sherlock didn't give a toss how his day was, and John certainly wasn't close enough to him to care. Anthea cared, but she had no reason to ask. She already knew exactly how his day had been. Mycroft leaned back, hands coming up in front of his mouth in a considering pose, palms together and thumbs cradling his chin. It was very reminiscent of a certain consulting detective. "Luckily, productive. Not terribly restful." He glanced at Lestrade. "Nerve-wracking." He'd been anticipating their dinner much of the day.

R: "Nerve-wracking? Well, a nice, cold can of beer should fix that." He took another swig from his can and set it down on the table. Greg wondered what could make Mycroft Holmes worry so much. Meeting with terrorist groups or something? Or perhaps saving a small country plagued with famine? Maybe trying to break up a raging civil war? Whatever it was, it was clear that Mycroft's job involved an enormous amount of stress, more stress than Greg could possibly imagine facing in his lifetime. Being a DI required being able to fill out paperwork on time, which he had a mild suspicion wasn't something he would have to do from now on, make good coffee from the crappy coffeemaker in the Yard, being able to call on a consulting detective, as he so calls himself, and chasing criminals from time to time, not very often. Not that he wasn't fit; in fact, he was probably the fastest runner in the Homicide Department. Greg thought that maybe his job was a bit less...stressing than he thought. It put his complaints about his job into perspective.

T: Mycroft raised an amused eyebrow at Lestrade, as the man didn't seem to understand what he'd said, but took another swig nonetheless. "Thankfully, the situation remedied itself." He said, voice taking on a soft quality for a moment. Yes, this was... All a quite overwhelming success. In fact, Mycroft wasn't sure where to go from here. He did know that, given the circumstances, he was more comfortable than he had any right to be. Greg's couch was soft, and the beer mixed with the wine from earlier was making his mind just the slightest bit fuzzy, making him feel almost normal. He could feel the man's heat even across open air, based on how close they were. "My day was rather uneventful until I picked you up, actually." He'd had a few meetings with honorable diplomats, but not over anything really crucial.

R: Greg leaned on Mycroft slightly, their shoulders pressed up against each other. All Greg wanted to do was put his lips on that gorgeous neck not even 15 centimeters away from him. But Greg had to control himself and make sure he didn't go to fast. If he did, it would ruin any chance Greg had of them being together and saying goodbye to his financial woes. He took a good look at Mycroft. He was drinking beer, his voice sounded almost normal, he had a shirt and a loose tie, his shoes were off, he looked so...comfortable. "Look at you, you're becoming more normal already. Beer does wonders. It tastes shite, but oh! The things it does."

T: The minor government official actually laughed at that, a clear, sincere sound. He MUST have been calming down. "I wouldn't blame it all on alcohol, Detective Inspector." He said, and it was true. Sure, it was helping a little, but not nearly as much as the aura of the whole flat, seeping into him through his skin, telling him to relax and take a moment to rest. "Your flat is extremely comfortable. I defy anyone to come in here and not deflate bonelessly onto the nearest piece of furniture." Or become high from the feeling of letting their head swim in your lovely smell. Or not want to cuddle up in your obnoxious, hateful warmth- really, was that so necessary? Mycroft leaned back into him a bit in return, and was glad to feel that his heart rate had slowed down, sluggish and lazy. "This must be heaven after a long day of chasing after London's rebels." He said, having to physically restrain himself from laying his head on Greg's shoulder. It wasn't just the flat. Greg was making him comfortable too. More than he'd ever thought he could be, with the stressful possibility of sex on the horizon. There was absolutely no risk of Lestrade screwing this up because of sexual advances. Well, within reason, of course, but Lestrade didn't seem prone to violence of that variety, so Mycroft wasn't worried about that. Mycroft couldn't ensure what his response would be like, however. Something that Lestrade did that was welcome might be wholly unwelcome by the time he'd actually started doing it, if it was too intense a gesture. Mycroft wasn't fragile, and Lestrade need not worry about breaking him, but after so many years, he was terribly sensitive and almost to the point of being sexually naive. That had shown in the restaurant. All Greg had really done was speak in his ear, get close, face to face, and that had been enough to send Mycroft reeling. If they did have sex, Mycroft felt like he would probably have a lot of apologizing to do. Still, the fact remained that Mycroft was anticipating sexual activity between them quite a lot.  Greg was appealing from head to toe. Especially head. And general abdomen region, and definitely buttocks.  Mycroft could work himself into an indecent state just from thinking about it, really. He wanted Greg, on top of him and showing him exactly what kind of sex two virile men could have together, teaching him how to hold his own in a sexual encounter. He also wanted himself, on top of Greg, proving to the DI exactly who he belonged to now. Mycroft shivered slightly against Lestrade just thinking about it. No matter what they did, Mycroft could imagine his eyes, those sinfully expressive wonders looking up at him with lust or admiration. Whether it was sharp or soft didn't matter really, as long as he was focused only on Mycroft.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at Lestrade's flat, ~things~ happen between Mycroft and Greg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an RP with the magnificent and incredibly legit Taylor [shoveaspockinit | tumblr]. Posts marked with an "R" are mine, and those marked with a "T" are hers.
> 
> As much as we would love to, we don't own Mycroft or Lestrade. They belong to the geniuses Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.

R: Greg chuckled. "Heh, yeah. It is heaven after a long grueling day at the Yard, but it gets really lonely after a while..." His voice trailed off as Greg thought about the many, MANY times he had come home from work wanting nothing more than a hot dinner on the table, a cold beer in his hand, and a pair of warm arms to snuggle into. Alas, he got only two of those three things on a regular basis, and some weeks he had to forgo the beer. But he did find his flat comfortable and homely, perfect for the sort of lifestyle he lead. There was no need to panic over a small stain on his couch or a worn-down coaster on his coffee table, because he didn't really care. But with Mycroft, he suddenly began to notice the small details, and tiny imperfections that made Greg's flat all the more comfortable. Greg turned on the sofa so that he was facing Mycroft. He didn't do anything but simply look at his profile and memorize the shape of those lips Greg craved to press his lips against, the elegance of the long nose he'd love to lazily plant a smooch on in the mornings, the smooth pale forehead he would do anything to lean his forehead on and drag Mycroft into a deep, intimate kiss. He had been itching to undress the dapper man before him since the beginning of this evening, though truth be told, he had imagined undressing Mycroft since they first saw each other. Greg was determined to make sure Mycroft stayed for the night. He was determined to show Mycroft what he was like in...other, private areas. He wanted to give Mycroft a taste of what he had been missing all his life. Most of all, he just wanted Mycroft. He wanted to be responsible for turning that pale, moon-like skin into a flush of pink. He wanted to mess up Mycroft's hair. He wanted the man incoherent and boneless beneath him on his mattress.

T: Mycroft realized Greg was looking at him and stayed stock still for a moment, allowing him to take a good look before he turned his head and looked back at Greg. He decided that since Lestrade had been taking a good look at him, it was appropriate to do the same. He took a moment to stare into Greg's eyes, and then his eyes moved slowly downward, savoring the sight of Lestrade's features, including the face that would probably be in need of a shave come morning, and the wide lips that Mycroft couldn't keep his eye on more than a moment before he began to fantasize about them. Mycroft would just go through with it, and press their lips together, and take in the lovely taste of them and damp drag of sensitive skin on skin, but he truly did not know what the protocol was for these sorts of things. His vision continued down to Lestrade's neck, and that was even worse than his lips, He closed his eyes and then found Lestrade's again. "I think that perhaps that won't be a problem for you any longer." he said, and his voice had dropped, becoming lower. "Perhaps... We should discuss the exact... terms. So there are no further misunderstandings."Mycroft was fully prepared to have an in depth conversation, but as it was their faces were inches apart and his voice was low and sexual tension was running at an outrageous high, it may or may not actually happen.

R: Greg leaned forward until his breath lingered near Mycroft's ear. "A discussion? You want to have a discussion? All right then." He looked at that soft, pink ear only centimeters from his mouth. He had to use all of his willpower in order to restrain himself from nipping at, biting, licking, and sucking on that ear. His breath raised goosebumps on a patch of soft skin beside the ear. He heard Mycroft's breath hitch next to him. The length of Greg's leg was leaning against Mycroft's, their feet hooked together. One of Greg's hands found its way to Mycroft's shoulder, which felt soft, warm, and round under the thin layer of his shirt. Greg's other hand went to the back of Mycroft's head, and Greg's fingers spread themselves through Mycroft's soft, dark hair. Despite his sexual activity in the past, Greg had never felt more nervous about making a move. He was just unsure of Mycroft's reaction. He did not want Mycroft to push him away, like before. He wanted to show Mycroft the...intimate side of him. He wanted to show Mycroft just what he'd been missing all his life. He wanted to show Mycroft, more than anything, how much he cared for him, and the extent he would go to prove it. Greg whispered in Mycroft's tantalizing ear, "Here are my terms." He moved his mouth barely an inch away from Mycroft's, letting his lips ghost over Mycroft's soft cheek. Without letting his mind give him any second thoughts, Greg closed the distance between their mouths.

T: The hand on his shoulder was innocent enough, as were their legs pressing together, and as lovely as they were, Mycroft could feel like they were casual accidents or little tokens of friendship. The warm breath on his ear, on his neck, no, that he couldn't ignore. Greg's breath was warm, and on his skin in such a sensitive place and god that felt obscene, melted something deep in his stomach, stirring arousal that this time, he didn't try to head off before it began. He couldn't help the tiny gasp he let out at the feeling. Mycroft had dirty thoughts of all stripes running through his head then, because suddenly every bit of contact they had was burningly sexual. And then Greg's hand tangled into his hair, cradling his head, and all of the places they touched were not only sexual, but also achingly tender, and sweet, and that sent a bolt of emotion through him that would have come out as a hushed "Oh.." if his lips hadn't been muffled with Greg's. He instantly thought that this did not count as a conversation, and these were not clearly stated terms and this only bred more ground for misunderstandings. He didn't have any more thoughts after that because the soft, warm feeling of Greg's lips on his own kicked in and silenced his mind from anything. Slowly, instinctively, one of Mycroft's hands came up and like little feathers, his fingertips touched Greg's cheek. He was unsure, he was reverent, like Greg was something precious. His lips pressed back into Greg's, so softly, and his eyes fluttered shut. Gregory, oh Gregory. Kissing him, wonderful, lips, hazelnut coffee, stale cigarettes, warm, kind, Greg-

R: Greg really wanted to rip off Mycroft's expensive shirt, which no doubt cost more than the couch they were sitting on, throw his tie off of his neck, rip his pants and underwear off, and fuck him right then and there. He wanted to mash his lips against Mycroft's and pick up the pace, as he was used to. But Greg had to remind himself to slow down and take it easy, for Mycroft's sake. He lightly pressed his lips against Mycroft's and felt Mycroft press back. He stayed like that, eyes closed, lips touching Mycroft's, for a few seconds, then drew back and looked at Mycroft to seek approval. He seemed to have enjoyed their kiss, but he wanted to know for sure if Mycroft wanted to continue, if Mycroft knew where this would eventually lead them and if Mycroft was truly okay with this and wasn't doing it just to please Greg. He repositioned himself so that he was sitting criss-cross on the sofa, facing the armrest Mycroft was sitting next to. He pulled Mycroft down, nibbled at his lower lip, and went in for another kiss. Greg swiped his tongue across Mycroft's lip several times before he felt Mycroft's lips part only slightly, tentatively.

T: When that small break occurred, Mycroft let out a tiny little huff of breath. Kissing Greg was wonderful. So wonderful, in fact, that by the time Mycroft could do anything but gaze back at him, eyes filled with lust, Greg's mouth was on his again. Mycroft felt that same drive that Lestrade did, that urge to move quickly and take over and just go, kissing deep and quickly as passionately and, oh god, wetly, all while Mycroft undid the buttons on Lestrade's shirt with one hand and tangled his fingers in the hair of the other. Lestrade's teeth on his lower lip sent sparks of ecstasy through him, and his tongue gently asking for entrance over and over was tempting, so tempting, and he almost submitted, lips opening just a fraction, before he realized what was happening and pulled away. He didn't pull away far, just far enough to end the kiss. His hand was still on Lestrade's cheek, and he stroked the slightly stubbly skin there with curious fingers. "I meant it." He said again, with a sigh. "I want to discuss this before we proceed." He swallowed and closed his eyes, but let his head come to rest against Lestrade's. "You must know what you are agreeing to."  
   
R: Greg looked into Mycroft's eyes, their foreheads resting against each other's. He was serious about having this "talk." "Agreeing to?" Greg asked, as if it were the most ridiculous thing on the planet. "What exactly do you mean 'agreeing to'? Like, a...a contract or something?" Now, why the hell would Mycroft want to "talk" about things before having sex? In Greg's life, it was always the other way around. Oftentimes, the "talk" never actually happened. Nevertheless, Greg wanted to respect the wishes of the man he felt he truly wanted in life. He never felt this way about another man before, and he didn't want to screw it up with Mycroft anytime soon. But still. Why "talk"? Greg felt like he was in danger, exposed, captured. Like he was about to join some underground organization, or a ring of smugglers. He felt that adrenaline rush he so craved, the same rush that made him so inclined to join the police force when he was younger. Mycroft was indeed a dangerous man, Greg concluded. He was so very dangerous. Greg could only wonder -- and anticipate -- what sort of a lifestyle Mycroft had in mind for the two of them. Greg pulled back until Mycroft was about an arm's length away. "All right. What is it you want to talk about?"

T: Mycroft was dumbfounded, and his eyebrows came slightly, when Greg asked him what they would be discussing. Was Greg really that dense? They were sitting here, kissing, and what wonderful kissing it was, and Greg didn't realize that they were going to be talking about their relationship? A sick thought hit Mycroft then. What if Greg didn't think of it because it wasn't what he wanted? It was at that moment that Greg pulled away from him, and Mycroft actually flinched. Was this all a mistake? Was even telling Greg the significance of this just an uncouth punchline to some joke? He shut his eyes tight after a moment of deliberation, forcing himself to have courage. "I do not have casual sex, Detective Inspector. I do not date. Ever. I have no reason to. Banal romances do not interest me." When he forced himself to meet Greg's eyes once more, his were intense, commanding Greg to understand that what he wanted with Greg was anything but casual or banal.  Of course, no matter how scary his eyes were, his words were fairly straightforward- and they did not sound like what he intended them to mean.

R: Greg stared at Mycroft in dumbfounded disbelief. "You...don't date? Ever? No casual sex, I understand, although I have to say you're missing out on quite a bit. A-And what exactly do you mean by 'banal romances'? Do you really think this is going to be a banal relationship? Wh-What's your point, anyway?" He couldn't believe his ears. What was it that Mycroft expected from them? After that kiss, all Greg could think of was how wonderful they'd be together, and he played little fantasies in his head. They quickly shattered once Mycroft mentioned "banal romances." Granted, Greg was an idealist, and it was clear to him that Mycroft was a realist, but he thought that what Mycroft had said was just absurd. "Why can't you go for it, and be spontaneous?"

T: Mycroft blinked. He'd hurt Greg's feelings, and confused him. They were both confused now. It wasn't a state of affairs that Mycroft was used to. Being confused was very unsettling. "I do not date because I do not need to have a romantic interest in my life." He said, thinking he should start from the beginning. "I lived for twenty two years without romantic entanglements before I met Lorena and I lived for fifteen years afterwards just the same, and I was fine. Sex, as an extension of romance, is much the same." He shook his head and realized he'd have to explain exactly what he meant. "If we were to have a relationship, I expect it would be anything but banal and most definitely NOT spontaneous."

R: Greg finally understood. Mycroft was simply inexperienced in those areas. "Again, as I've always maintained, you don't know what you've been missing," Greg said with a smirk. He leaned in until his nose was on Mycroft's cheek, which was soft and smooth to the touch. "Look, Mycroft, if we were to have a relationship, of course it won't be boring. Well, my life is absolutely mundane, but together, our lives will be exciting, I promise you." Greg wondered why Mycroft wasn't a big fan of spontaneity. Perhaps his job didn't allow any room for it. But Greg always thought "minor government officials" had to be able to think quickly on their feet. And if Mycroft was anything like Sherlock -- which, in many ways, he was -- his spontaneous thinking skills were well above average. Greg made it his personal mission to show Mycroft what he'd been missing out on all these years. "Y'know, I don't understand why you're not such a big fan of being spontaneous." He leaned in and kissed Mycroft's cheek. "Spontaneous is fun." A chaste kiss on Mycroft's jaw under his ear. "Spontaneous, if you do it right, is so very hot." A warm, wet kiss at the base of Mycroft's neck, just above his collarbones.

T: Mycroft could not help the low, needy sound that escaped him, and that was not good. He took Lestrade's head in his hands and pulled him back away again. "I don't give a toss how mundane our lives end up, and I don't give a toss about spontaneity, one way or the other!!" It was the first time Mycroft had lost his cool in front of Greg. He couldn't help it when Greg still didn't REALLY understand. Mycroft was inexperienced, yes, which was part of why the kiss affected him so much, but that wasn't what he'd been getting at. "I have no dislike of being spontaneous, but I have wanted you to be mine so fervently from the day I first saw you that nothing that comes of this could possibly be called spontaneous. It had been war too long in coming." He shook his head. "Also, I do not care about what I have been missing by not going on ridiculous rendezvous on people I more than likely would not want to see for more than a pleasurable evening. I do not-" Mycroft took a deep breath. "I do not take the practice of courting lightly." He was quiet for a moment. "I would not court someone unless I intended to make that person my husband or wife." It was obvious that Mycroft was worked up now, and bothered by it all. Greg just needed to know, even if it might risk the possibility of getting anywhere. "I have only ever tried to win the favor of one other, and-" He swallowed. "I am not asking you to make that commitment, but you must know that... Nothing about the relationship I intend to have in temporary or transient. I simply want you to take this SERIOUSLY."

R: Oh. _Oh_. Greg got it. This was just Mycroft's way of trying to make sure Greg didn't treat this as a one-time thing, a quick shag. No, Mycroft wasn't just interested in Greg, he was interested in Greg. He was set on spending the rest of his life with Greg, and while no one else had expressed such deep a sentiment toward him, Greg couldn't help but be touched by Mycroft's words. "Of course, Mycroft. I'd hate for this to be a one-time fling, really. I-If you want to go...slower, we certainly can. Just say the word and it'll happen. Look, I just want you -- us -- to be comfortable. I really like you, all right? I've liked you for a while now. And I'll do anything to make sure you don't slip through my fingers. And I promise you, I'm taking this seriously. I wouldn't want this to be any other way." Greg looked up at Mycroft with his deep, brown eyes. He lifted a hand and placed it on the side of Mycroft's face, stroking his thumb against Mycroft's cheek. He gave Mycroft a small, lopsided grin.

T: Mycroft's tension seemed to melt out of him. "And yet you still misunderstand me." He said, his hand coming to cover Lestrade's, to stroke the back of it and hold it against his own because that touch was the most wonderful thing he could ever imagine feeling.  "I did not say I wanted to go slower." He swallowed. "On the contrary, I would prefer to have you shirtless and to have your hands over every inch of me. It has been difficult and painful to push you away repeatedly, Detective Inspector." He shook his head. "I am not afraid or intimate relations. I do not want to cease them or put them off or go slower. I want this now. But I only want it if it's real. I only want it if you can take a long think and take into consideration who I am and if you'd really approve of being mine and only mine, of having me underfoot and around and wanting to kidnap and kiss you because I simply cannot help it." He felt shaky after all of this, and his throats dry. Mycroft felt that after all this time, and after Lorena who still stung him, his feelings were volatile and ready to burst out of him at any moment. Well, many of them already had.  "I... Apologize that I had to ruin the mood to tell you all of this. I understand if you are turned off by so serious a topic, however... This is crucial."

R: Greg whispered, "Look into my eyes, Mycroft." He focused on Mycroft's eyes, his face, his nose, his neck, his skin, his hair, everything about this man in front of him. He thought about how much he wanted it. He wanted Mycroft, he wanted them to be together, he wanted to wake up in bed next to this man every morning, he wanted to come back home and cuddle up next to him and watch crap telly. He wanted to show Mycroft his life, he wanted to be immersed in Mycroft's. He wanted to share a chicken teriyaki takeaway one night and have crème brûlée the next. Mycroft was different. He was different from any of the other men Greg had been attracted to. While Greg was physically and sexually attracted to the other men in his past, he found himself attracted to Mycroft in a new way, something he hadn't experienced before. He felt emotionally attached to the man too. Greg thought, _This is ridiculous. I barely know the man, yet I'm already looking forward to a life with him_. He reconsidered. _It may be ridiculous, but it's real. It's as real as the crime rings in London's underground_. And Greg wanted it more than anything. He craved it. "And tell me if I want it. Tell me if you can see how much I want it."

T: Mycroft wasn't surprised often. It took something particularly unexpected to even get him to bat an eye. To Mycroft, the need in Greg's eyes were shocking, and Mycroft's own eyes widened a bit in response.  Greg really did want this. Maybe not the same way Mycroft wanted it, but just as much, at least. Mycroft closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. Why did Lestrade have feelings for him? Why hadn't he ever done anything about him? Greg was a brave man, Mycroft knew that. So why had be stopped himself all this time? It wasn't as if he hadn't done it before. Well, no matter... Even if it was unbelievable, it was still wonderful, and Mycroft wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He accepted as graciously as he could. "I apologize for being... Inexperienced. Short of that... I hope I can make this relationship worth your while." Mycroft had no idea why Greg was as attached to him as he clearly, honestly was... But since he knew it wasn't likely he could pay him back in sex (at least not until he got the hang of it) he hoped that his money and influence could keep Lestrade happy.

R: "Inexperienced? I don't mind. And hopefully, I'll soon fix that." Greg raised his eyebrows and settled his mouth at the base of Mycroft's neck. This time, Greg didn't want to be interrupted. He wouldn't be mad or upset if he was, but he felt like he'd made his point now. Mycroft was simply trying to take necessary precautions. He was new to this, and Greg understood. There was a time when he was new to this too, but that was almost 30 years ago, when he was a bored 15 year old. He let his boyfriend show him the ropes, and that had been his lifestyle ever since. He hungrily kissed the spot. He had been slightly impatient all this time, and he wanted nothing more than to show Mycroft what he'd been missing. He sucked on the soft skin as he undid the blasted buttons on Mycroft's shirt. He was careful not to rip it off his body, because that shirt probably costed more than Greg's entire wardrobe. He laid his hands flat on Mycroft's chest, and dragged them down and around Mycroft's torso. Greg held onto Mycroft's waist and stroked his thumb against the pale skin and sucked and sucked on Mycroft's neck until he was sure there would be a bruise there. He simply hoped it would be covered by a shirt collar, but didn't really care. He took his mouth away from Mycroft's neck and, pleased with his work, closed the distance between their lips.

T: Mycroft took a deep breath as he felt Lestrade's lips on his neck. He'd been vigilant enough to make sure that the location that was being kissed and then- good lord, SUCKED- wouldn't be visible if it left a mark. Truth be told, the idea of having a mark on his skin from Lestrade made his insides quiver with delight. There was a form own ownership in having your mark on another. Mycroft wasn't sure if he dared to leave one on Greg as well. Not yet. Not until he was completely sure that Greg did in fact belong to him. For now, it was easy to let his mind go with the feeling of Greg's lips and tongue and the barest hint of teeth on his skin. Or at least, it would have been easy to let his mind go, if Greg's hands weren't suddenly on his skin, distracting him from the wonderful oblivion. Not that he objected to it in the least bit.  Greg's hands were slightly rough but he used them so gently, and reverently. Mycroft's breath hitched at the calloused thumbs over his bare hips. Yes, this was exactly what he'd wanted. His hands lifted to undo the buttons on Greg's shirt as well, but he'd only gotten the first few done by the time the DI's mouth was on his, and Mycroft was once more preoccupied. This time he pressed his lips back into Lestrade's, trying to remember the sensual game of kissing this way. It had been a long time, and the receiving lips were so different, as was the hair he ran his fingers through, but it was very much the same.

R: Greg grinned into the kiss when he felt Mycroft stop unbuttoning his shirt. He pulled Mycroft's tie loose and, breaking off the kiss momentarily, removed the tie from around his neck. He continued kissing Mycroft deeply, his tongue mapping out every corner of his mouth, while pulling Mycroft's shirt from under his trousers and pushing it off his body. He placed his hands square on Mycroft's shoulders and slowly, tantalizingly, dragged them down to the small of his back. He then gently dragged his nails, which needed a trim, he reminded himself, up and down Mycroft's back, careful not to press down too hard. His hands trailed down to Mycroft's waistband. His fingers grazed the skin-cloth barrier, threatening to enter his trousers.

T: Even if his nails were a little longer Mycroft found he didn't care, and even found himself pressing his back down into those gentle hands until Greg's fingers left faint pink marks on his skin. He loved how positively gentle Greg was being, the simple, slow drag of his hands over his very sensitive skin, but he also wasn't made of glass. He could be cherished and also be actually touched at the same time. Mycroft felt Greg's fingers at his waistband, vacillating, not quite sure whether to surge forward or leave him be. "You don't need to be so careful." Mycroft said, voice low. "I will not break." He swallowed, and one of his hands came down to pull Greg's away from his waistband, threading their fingers together. "And what? Are you going to have me writhing and begging you before I've even gotten your clothes off?" Okay, so even inexperienced, Mycroft was a bit of a control freak, even in bed. These weren't complaints, they were suggestions. Because oh, lord, why would he complain when every second of contact between them felt so fantastic?

R: Greg just laughed. "That's the point, Mycroft." Greg gave him a merciless smile and continued kissing him. His palm went down to cup Mycroft between his legs. He palmed the area and wasn't surprised when Mycroft began bucking his hips into his hand. He removed his hand and resumed toying with his waistband. "If you want me to stop making you beg..." Greg undid the buttons on Mycroft's slacks, but didn't make any effort to disrobe him further. "Then get this fucking shirt off me, dear. I'm positively burning in here."

T: Mycroft actually POUTED. It was as adorable as it was out of character. Even having Greg's hand touching him so gently, and through cloth, being touched there made his entire body flush with heat, and he couldn't help but gasp and press up into it, because god, Greg touching him there was NOTHING like his own hand when he decided to take a luxurious bit of time to himself. It was so much better, so much so that the moment his hand went away, Mycroft knew he wanted more. Wanted to initiate more.  He did exactly as Greg asked, taking his shirt off of him- but not before he'd pressed up and gotten Greg on his back, pressing his own assertive kiss to Greg's lips and not much caring that when he'd pulled the shirt off of him he'd ripped the last button right off, because he could get Greg nicer, better shirts without even blinking. In this new position, with Mycroft on top, their erections each pressed and rubbed into each other, and fuck, that was even better than Lestrade's hand, because he knew how affected by this Greg was as well. Mycroft ran his (manicured!) hands down Greg's front, slowly, reveling in the free license to explore him, and though his hands were a bit clumsy, he didn't seem the least bit shy.

R: Greg's heart started pounding as Mycroft's perfect fingers approached his hardening shaft. Why didn't the man take his pants off already, damn it? But he was patient, and didn't want to tell Mycroft anything else. He wanted to let Mycroft learn how to do these things on his own. He pulled down Mycroft's ridiculously expensive trousers and palmed him, feeling him buck his hips into his hand again. He then put his thumb in the waistband of Mycroft's briefs and pulled them down swiftly, exposing Mycroft's erection. He looked down at his hard cock, already leaking. He pulled Mycroft's head down and gave him a deep kiss. Greg broke off the kiss and whispered in Mycroft's ear, "You're bloody gorgeous, Mycroft." His hands traveled down his back, now glistening with sweat, and cupped his arse, rubbing their erections together, and also in hopes of hinting to Mycroft to remove Greg's trousers.

T: It was Greg's words that finally had him blushing someplace that wasn't his ears. Now his face and neck were also turning a very alluring shade of pink. Mycroft could practically feel it, feel his face burning and his head swimming as Greg unwrapped him like a Christmas present. Ah, yes, this kind of contact was better than any Christmas present he'd ever gotten, and he was rather partial to some of the things his mother and younger brother had gotten him over the years.  His brain was not firing on all thrusters, but it was going quick enough to appreciate the raw honesty of Greg's compliment. "You're very... appealing, yourself." He said breathlessly against Lestrade's lips. Mycroft realized that there was no point in going slow, now that Greg already had him completely spellbound, already hard enough to hammer nails. The man's hands, beautiful and masculine and strong as they were, were creating maddening friction on him first through the thin cotton of his briefs and then with nothing at all between them. And then his lips on his own once more... Greg wanted this to be as emotional as it was purely, animalistically sexual. Mycroft wanted then to see as much of Greg as he possibly could too, despite how fetching he looked in just his trousers. In moments, Greg was bared to the cool living room air as well, and Mycroft's hand, never having touched another man before, took Greg's in a loose but attentive grip that said he would very much like to learn what set him off best. Greg allowed Mycroft to explore for long moments, finding the places and the touches, both on his cock and on his torso that made him wriggle or make his breath hitch. Then Greg showed him the same, touching Mycroft in a fashion he hadn't been touched in a decade and a half, and even then, never with this kind of pressure and intent. Mycroft and Greg learned together the places right on Mycroft’s side that made him twitch and exactly how two glorious handfuls of his backside could make Mycroft moan. For a first time, it was getting to be a bit too much, Mycroft wriggling and making small noises almost every touch, and Greg knew that it was probably time to finish this up, as much as he wanted to prolong it. He took both of their cocks in one hand, and though it was a large handful he managed, stroking them both with intent to finish while he pulled Mycroft in close with a hand on his neck, fingertips tangling in the soft auburn locks that resided there. Mycroft was reduced to bracing himself on Greg's shoulders and trying to interrupt their kiss with his gasps. It was a valiant, but failed effort. In fact, as he felt himself soaring closer and closer to orgasm, he had to disengage his mouth from Greg's entirely, breathing harshly on his shoulder, his gasps almost coming in squeaks as he grew closer and closer. He wanted Greg to know, wanted to tell him in case this was somehow uncouth, coming just now, too early or unintentional or something, but he couldn't control his mouth any longer. That was why, when he did finally arch his back as he came, cum painting Greg's fingers and both of their abdomens, cock pulsing hotly against Greg's own hard shaft, he called out the DI's name for the first time, a breathless "Gregory!" before he let out another, choking cry and then collapsed onto him in an endearingly undignified heap.

R: Greg shuddered and cried out Mycroft's name as he lay on the couch, completely boneless, with a heap of Mycroft strewn over him like a warm blanket. Greg stroked Mycroft's back, but suddenly stopped as he came across an epiphany. Mycroft had said his name for the first time since they had met. It hadn't occurred to him before that Mycroft referred to him as "Detective Inspector" or "Lestrade" to his assistant. He chuckled and grinned as the endorphins raced through his blood and made him feel content. "You said my name. You've never called me by my first name before." He stroked Mycroft's hair, hesitant to break the contact and clean them up. Under normal circumstances, he would have immediately gotten up, wiped everything clean, and settled down with a blanket. But for reasons he couldn't explain, he liked having Mycroft as a blanket, even if it meant leaving the sticky, white cum dry up between them. Of course, that only meant that they'd have to shower later, which was something Greg was rather looking forward to. Meanwhile, he simply stayed there, under Mycroft, stroking his sides with his fingers and settling his head on Mycroft's soft, freckled skin and breathing in the smell of _Mycroft_.

T: Mycroft hummed softly, surprised that his mind could work the way it was, all clogged up by the sheer happiness of having just come at Greg's hand, and of being draped over him like a duvet. As it was, it was working well enough for him to explain his reasoning to Lestrade. "I was unsure if our relationship was informal enough to call you by your name, rather than your title." Greg's hands now were so intimate and soft, even more so than when they'd began. His hands in Mycroft's hair, over his naked sides. He turned his head so his face was pressed against Lestrade's neck. "You are lovely." He said softly, because he wasn't sure exactly what the obligations were for times like this. Mycroft, for one, didn't feel very good to have their bodily fluids drying on them, but for just now, it didn't matter. He didn't consider for a moment taking a shower with Greg.

R: Greg allowed himself to relax, tilt his head back onto the sofa, and loosen his muscles. He hadn't been able to do that for weeks, months even. He closed his eyes and cleared his mind of all thoughts and worries except those of _Mycroft_. Mycroft and only Mycroft was on his mind. Mycroft filled his thoughts. Mycroft was in his nose, in his head, in his heart. He wanted to take a shower, but decided to let Mycroft get in the shower first, so he could sneak up on him and join him. Perhaps, they'd have a little replay of what happened on the couch. And so, Greg was sprawled on the sofa covered by a warm, soft Mycroft, with no intention of getting up.

T: Mycroft tolerated that state of affairs for whole MINUTES before he felt the need to get up and get somehow, in any way, clean. Eventually the need to be put together and presentable to himself at the very least, won out over being curled up with Gregory Lestrade underneath him, warm and mostly naked and still breathing a little hard. That Mycroft let himself get to such a state in the first place (He was naive but not stupid, he knew that things were likely to get messy) let alone not immediately remedy the situation, spoke volumes. Finally, he lifted his head from Gregory's neck, and murmured, "If I might... Could I make use of your facilities?" The eldest Holmes wasn't sure it was proper to ask permission for Lestrade's shower, even though that was what he truly wanted, and he would make due with a warm wash cloth and getting back into his thankfully still clean, save a small wet spot on the inside of his briefs that was probably already long dry, and very proper clothes.  As loathed as he was to put distance between himself and his.... Well, whatever Greg was now... He really did need to get back to a more proper state of affairs before he began to get twitchy.

R: Greg mumbled, "Facilities? Oh, the shower? Yeah, go ahead. Third door to your left." He lazily extended an arm and pointed in the general direction of the corridor. He watched Mycroft step off the sofa and walk toward the bathroom. He suddenly felt colder, as the warm weight of Mycroft's body on him was no longer present. He stared at the curve of Mycroft's calves, his round arse, and the small of his back and found himself, not surprisingly, longing for more contact with the man. He wondered if Mycroft had ever shared a shower with anyone before, and his eyes lighted up at the prospect of showing him the ropes. He waited for five minutes before positively writhing with anticipation, got up off the sofa, and snuck into the bathroom. As he crept closer to the shower, a wave of steam hit him and his breath hitched as he saw Mycroft's silhouette behind the curtains. He walked up to the shower, pulled aside the curtains, and smirked at the shocked face. "Mind if I join you?"

T: Mycroft was shocked by how easily Lestrade offered his bathroom to him. He did it with so little thought, so few details... He must truly not care, not mind having a... Well, not a stranger, not anymore, was he? A guest in his shower. Mycroft gave him a look that was surprised and almost bashful, and then stole a quick kiss in a fit of courage before he took off, forcing himself not to rush despite how vulnerable it made him feel to know that Gregory was leering at his backside. The privacy of the bathroom was a relief, and he actually sighed, sagging slightly from his full posture. Goodness. The entire situation was a shock, and his mind was still reeling from it. Even where he was killing him. He was in Greg's bathroom. Naked. About to use his shower. He turned the water on, not hot but just slightly warmed, and stepped in. It took him another full minute to become acclimated to this. Gregory was in this tiny chamber every day, running his hands over his body to clean it... And more? Mycroft closed his eyes and couldn't help the moan that escaped him. It was just a tiny, breathy thing, but it was there. Even as overwhelmed as he was, Mycroft heard Greg enter. He froze. Did Gregory need something? He didn't say his name, or call out in any other way. Why was he in there? Was he alright? Did he need first aid? He heard the breath hitch, and was filled with worry. Then, Greg was leaning into the shower, with the curtain pushed aside, and Mycroft's face spoke of just how very scandalized he was feeling. Join him? "What!?" He couldn't even really comprehend what Lestrade was offering.

R: Greg almost chuckled at the interjection. "Yes, join you in your shower." He stepped into the shower, and closed the curtains. He wrapped his arms around the taller man and leaned his chin on Mycroft's shoulder. "Saves water. Or it's supposed to." He whispered in his ear, "That never really ends up happening, though." After seeing a look of sheer incredulity in his now-lover's eyes, he tried to reassure him. "Just...relax, Mycroft. That's the point of this. To wash ourselves off together, share a few more kisses, and to relax. All right? We don't have to do anything else in here if you don't want to. Now, turn around." With that, Greg grabbed Mycroft by the shoulders and spun him around so Greg was facing Mycroft's back. He placed his hands on either side of Mycroft's neck and began kneading his fingers into Mycroft's skin, giving the man a massage, because Greg could imagine how stressful Mycroft's job must be.

T: Mycroft resisted the urge to actually take a step back as Greg stepped up to him.  Greg could feel him stiff as a board as he stepped close and whispered into his ear. Oh, feeling Lestrade close to him was glorious. He was even starting to get wet, even as Mycroft was getting the brunt of the spray. With one glance down he could see the drops of water falling down his strong shoulders in shining rivulets. It was so painfully alluring. He wanted to kiss it off of him. And he knew he could. But he didn't know if he should. Even after Greg explained to him the purpose of sharing this shower, and told him to just relax, Mycroft had difficulty. As Greg turned him around he closed his eyes tight, and even with Greg's hands- lovely, wonderful hands- on him, he had trouble relaxing. "I... Are you sure...?" There was no doubt he could feel uncomfortable he was.  This was not the way things should be, was it? This was a time for being alone, for being private, for getting clean, for putting himself back together because as fabulous as the sexual contact between the two of them has been, it was very unorganized, and even, at its base, undignified.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A misunderstanding may quite possibly mean the end of Mycroft and Lestrade!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an RP with the magnificent and incredibly legit Taylor [shoveaspockinit | tumblr]. Posts marked with an "R" are mine, and those marked with a "T" are hers.
> 
> As much as we would love to, we don't own Mycroft or Lestrade. They belong to the geniuses Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.

R: Greg just kneaded his fingers into Mycroft's freckled skin harder. "I'm sure, Mycroft. Trust me." He worked his fingers in Mycroft's shoulders and mid-back, getting those pesky knots out. He wanted Mycroft to be absolutely relaxed for what he had in mind for him. He moved hands slowly, squeezing in between, from Mycroft's shoulders down to his hips and his pelvis, deliberately avoiding his cock, which Greg suspected was half-hard already. Greg whispered "Just relax." He swiftly turned Mycroft around, slammed him against the tile, and kissed him, Greg's tongue exploring every inch of Mycroft's mouth. One of Greg's hands was tangled in Mycroft's dripping hair, and the other was stroking his half-hard cock. Greg broke off the kiss and kneeled down in front of him, placing kisses from Mycroft's jaw line to his hip, and briefly stopping to circle his tongue and suck on one of his sensitive nipples. He looked up at Mycroft's eyes, pushed his hips back against the wall, and licked his shaft from base to head.

T: Mycroft tried to relax, he really did. Because in theory, this did sound good. Being in the warm shower with his beloved, having the man press close to him and touch him, especially that backrub that would have been heavenly if Mycroft could just let his muscled fall lax... But he couldn't. Not with Lestrade in his private space at his private times while he was trying to clean up and put himself together again. Still, Mycroft knew that his reaction wasn't normal. He should be thrilled, should be overjoyed. Mycroft could pretend, could try to put himself in that relaxed frame of mind, could try to compose himself when it was just Greg's hands gently exploring him, and if he tried hard enough it might just work. But before he got the chance to do that, Greg had whirled him around and pressed him hard against the tiles, had devoured his mouth in a way that would be pleasurable if he wasn't keeping that mouth from screaming and the hand that was already touching him so intimately that he wanted to break away from him. Greg's hand in his hair was gentle though, still soft as all of Greg's touches had been so far. And Mycroft knew that Greg wasn't trying to hurt him (he wasn't, but Mycroft was panicking like he was) or make him feel uncomfortable. He wanted to make Mycroft feel good, wanted to show him an enjoyable experience. Those thoughts made Mycroft try his damnedest, with sheer will and determination to do exactly as Greg had asked, and trust him. He pressed himself back against the tiles as hard as he possibly could, and clenched his fists until his knuckles were white. By the time Greg got to his cock, Mycroft's eyes were clenched shut and he was shaking, and the moment that tongue hit his half wilted erection, Mycroft knew he'd had too much. After holding back for so many long and terrible moments, he exploded in a flurry of action, pressing Lestrade down and away from him, not shoving him but just getting Lestrade out of the way, and stepping straight past him and out of the tub, and then out the door, only grabbing a towel on the way because even when he was panicking he was practical. He wrapped it around his waist, breathing hard, and then pressed himself against the wall right outside the bathroom, trying to calm himself down. He had no idea what had just happened, why Greg had invaded on his private moment, why he hadn't enjoyed it, why he had pushed Greg away... It was never a good experience, pushing him away. But this time, as all times, it was necessary. He bowed his head, hiding his face, and wished that he could put a robe or something on, because he felt so very exposed.

R: Mycroft's reaction shocked Greg immensely. But that meant...the entire time, when Greg thought Mycroft was panting from lust or desire, he was actually terribly and extremely uncomfortable. Greg felt a sickening feeling in his stomach, which quickly spread throughout his entire body and wilted his cock like nothing else. He immediately retracted and had a panicked look in his eyes. He actually cringed when Mycroft pushed past him. He sat in the corner farthest from Mycroft, scrunched his eyes shut, and raised his hand to his forehead. "Oh, _shit_ , Mycroft. Damn, I...I had no idea you...I'm so sorry...I don't know how you can trust me now, I just...Look, if you want to leave and never want to talk to me again, I won't blame you. I'll leave you alone now. Oh, god. What the fuck have I gone and done now? I've practically driven away the one man I...no matter. I'll leave you." Greg pulled back the curtains and stepped out of the tub, cheeks crimson with embarrassment and regret.

T: Mycroft winced. Greg's words, he could sense all of the raw feeling in them, and it made sense, but it was wrong, so wrong. Still, Mycroft needed this, needed Greg to get away from him, just for a bit, just for a few moments. He hadn't really done anything more than rinse off, but even if it made his hair stand up strangely, he wasn't going to get back into that shower. He just needed to dry off and breathe for a bit, though at this point even just being in the bathroom felt restricted and claustrophobic. Mycroft didn't want Lestrade to go anywhere, but he did need his space. He tried to put himself together a bit right there, bringing back as much decorum as he could manage. "Just a moment, Detective Inspector."

R: Detective Inspector. _Detective Inspector_. Not Gregory, not Greg, not even Lestrade. Detective _fucking_ Inspector. Mycroft was constructing a wall between them, the same wall Greg worked so hard on breaking down. All because of Greg's rather blatantly stupid decision to go join Mycroft in the shower. Greg only made it worse by trying to suck him off. Why couldn't Greg think of anything other than sex? Why did he have to be this sex-crazed maniac? Why couldn't he be fucking normal for a change? Why didn't he realize that Mycroft just needed his space? Why did he fail to consider that not everyone else, especially not Mycroft, is a horny bastard like Greg? He froze, bit his lip, and turned around to face Mycroft. Unable to form words at first, he cleared his throat and spoke with a raspy voice. "Yeah?"

T: Mycroft pulled himself up, a little shaky, one hand clutched around the towel at his waist. He felt so very exposed, just wanted to be alone so he could cover himself up. But this was important too. More important, in fact, which was why he'd stopped Greg from leaving before he could. Mycroft swallowed, and then reached behind him to the rack of bath goods. With his free hand, he offered Greg a towel. The man was wet now, fully dripping. "I don't want you to become ill." He said softly, not raising his eyes at Greg for even a moment.

R: He took the towel from Mycroft without looking up at his face. "Thanks." He kept his head down as he blotted and rubbed himself and his hair dry with the towel and wrapped it around his waist. Offered a towel in his own home. Wonderful. Further adding to his humiliation. He realized that Mycroft and he needed to have a serious discussion if this were to go any further. God knew he wanted to keep Mycroft, he really did. But Mycroft consistently defied all expectations, making it exceedingly difficult while providing a nice break from the monotony of the pattern of his relationships up until he met Mycroft. He kept his head down and mumbled like a little kid in trouble with the school principal. "I'm really sorry, Mycroft. I should have understood that you just wanted a bit of space. I'm really, really sorry for..." Greg sighed and looked to the side, avoiding Mycroft's gaze.

T: But Mycroft couldn't handle this anymore. Greg was supposed to go, GO, because the whole problem was that this was PRIVATE and Greg was HERE and it had been so much, too much and it was still all too much and Mycroft crumbled. He managed to do it only in the set of his shoulders and in the horrible contortion of his face into something desperate and aching with pain. Luckily, he covered his face with a hand before Greg could see. He forced hi voice to be steady, normal. "Please go. Please. Just. Please." He needed it desperately, to have time away from all of this lunacy.

R: Keeping his head down, he mumbled, "Sure," as he exited the bathroom as quietly as he entered it. He tried not to think too much into it and he tried to convince himself that Mycroft just needed some space, but he couldn't help the little thought that threatened to creep into his head. It whispered to him that Mycroft just doesn't want him, that this was all too much for him, and that he didn't want to see him again. Because that's what Greg had always been, his entire life, right? A quick fuck? That little voice told him that Mycroft's no different. Greg's shameless stupidity turned Mycroft away, and now even Mycroft would be leaving him, just like the others. _Fuck_. No one wanted to stay with the stupid, pathetic gay copper who used to give hand jobs behind the water boiler, did they. He went to his room and put on a pair of blue pajamas and a comfortable white T-shirt. He shuffled over to the kitchen, where he started making tea. For one.

T: As soon as Greg was gone, Mycroft moved in a quick, compulsive flurry of actions, first drying himself off as immaculately as possible and then getting properly suited up again, down to every last detail he could in that bathroom, which was to say he got his shirt tucked into his pants, every button, including the ones on his cuffs, done up just right, everything straight and wrinkles smoothed out. Then he tried to tease his still damp hair in a way that wasn't ridiculous. He even put his socks on. When he was as clothed as he possibly could be, and the tub had been cleaned of any outside drips, and the shower curtain had been touched away, and the towel had been disposed of in its basket, and Lestrade's toothbrush put parallel with the side of the counter instead of slightly off kilter, he looked in the mirror and wrung his hands. All of the compulsive activities had helped calm him quite a bit, but now that he wasn't feeling pressured and invaded in and panicked and out of breath, he was worried about Greg. How did he apologize in this situation? Mycroft swallowed, and decided that he would need a few more layers of fabric between him and the situation before he could continue. He stepped into the living room, glad that Lestrade wasn't in there, and took the chance to put on his tie, knotted perfectly, as well as his waistcoat, and his Jacket, which he buttoned. As a last measure, he grabbed his umbrella, so he would have something to do with his hands besides wring them. Mycroft walked in the kitchen looking for all the world like he intended to get the hell out of the flat as soon as possible.

R: Greg turned his head as soon as he heard footsteps approaching the kitchen. And there was Mycroft, looking just the way he looked when he came in. All dressed up and ready to leave. Greg didn't know what to say. He blew it, and he knew it. But it was worse this time. He didn't usually see his exes [if he actually had relationships with them, that is] around after they left, and even if he did, it was usually around the corner, or at a pub. But Mycroft, he'd be seeing quite often when it came to Sherlock and homicide cases. He knew he'd be seeing a lot of Mycroft, and Mycroft would be seeing plenty more of him. That camera across from his locker. If it won't be taken down in a few days, he'd see to it that the Yard security officers locate and remove it. He forced himself to look into Mycroft's eyes [ _Be civilized_ , he told himself] and give him an apologetic smile and gesturing to the one cup of tea he was making. "Fancy a cuppa before you leave?"

T: Mycroft was a Holmes. He was observant enough to see the single cup of tea. Lestrade didn't even have a kettle with hot water waiting in it. The water level on his one cupper was lower. Greg didn't think that Mycroft was staying. He thought he was leaving right away, in fact. Soon enough that he would make tea for himself, but not for Mycroft. Mycroft wondered if he should. He knew what was bothering Greg, and that was fixed easily enough if he could manage to find his voice, but Mycroft's faults... They were not a one-time mistake. Mycroft knew himself. He could handle sex, of any variety, as long as when he wasn't in control, his lover took it slow enough the first time for him to get acclimated.  What he couldn't handle was not being able to put himself back together again when he fell apart, and requiring order in an almost obsessive compulsive manner.  Like his brother's sociopathy, it wasn't diagnosed because they each managed to be so very high functioning. Indeed, Mycroft had never had difficulty completing his work because of it. The way he lived his life, it had hardly been an issue since he was young. In any case, Mycroft didn't know how well this would manage in a relationship, and he didn't want to know what Lestrade would say if he figured out slowly, over time, that Mycroft was not right for him because of it. If Greg didn't have the heart to leave him, Mycroft certainly wouldn't. But he couldn't now, either. "No thank you." He answered simply, Glancing at Lestrade's face but not making eye contact. His knuckles were white where they grasped his brolly.

R: Greg murmured, "Suit yourself," and took a long sip from the tea he made. He smacked his lips, taking as long as he possibly could, stalling for time, because he really didn't want Mycroft to leave. There were areas of Mycroft unexplored, things he wanted to do. But Greg figured it just wouldn't work. They were just too different, I guess. He set the cup down slowly, making sure the cup didn't hit the countertop audibly. He took a cloth and wiped the cup where a drop travelled downward from the rim. He put the rag down on the countertop next to the cuppa, turned slowly, looked Mycroft in the eye, and said, "Well, err...bye, I guess?"

T: Mycroft watched Greg as he worked. He was tidying things. Suddenly, unexpectedly, Mycroft felt that this might, somehow, end up alright. He clears his throat, and meets Lestrade's eyes, and Lestrade can see panic in them as much as determination. "I wasn't intending on leaving." He said softly. "Unless I'm intruding. I rather though... There are apologies to be made." He took a breath and drew himself to his full, official height, and then the reason Mycroft was dressed so heavily was not to leave, but to protect himself, from eyes and hands and lips that would be so very appreciative if he'd known they were coming, became easily apparent. "Would you mind if we sat. Even somewhere... Comfortable?"

R: Oh. So...Mycroft wasn't leaving now. Perhaps he just...wanted to distance himself from Greg for a bit. Perhaps being this intimate with Greg was overwhelming for him. Greg couldn't remember the last time he was somebody's first. And suddenly he has to be Mycroft's first. Greg felt the pressure, but forced himself to remain calm for Mycroft's sake. He figured the "talk" would be about what just happened in the shower, and that the "apologies" Mycroft said were to be made had to come from Greg's side. After all, Greg was the one who had overstepped several lines by sneaking into the shower. Even though he was staring at Mycroft's cold, calm exterior, he could still see the unsettling panic in his eyes. Greg took his eyes away from Mycroft's eyes; he couldn't bear to look into the eyes of the man he hurt and violated so badly. He motioned to the dining table with a tip of his head. "Shall we?"

T: Mycroft sat down opposite Greg, and watched him for a long moment. Even haggard from his own guilt, he was very handsome." Mycroft still wanted to reach out and touch him. He refrained. "What just transpired was very... Uncomfortable. For the both of us, I'm certain." he looked down at his hands folded at the table. In comparison, Mycroft felt warm and cozy in his full suit. He decided that the best thing to do was head into it.  He pulled himself to his full height, straightening his back. He still wasn't quite able to meet Greg's eyes. "I apologize. I attempted to stay still but... I couldn't manage it." He truly had wished to calm himself and enjoy it. He had trusted Lestrade, and he still did. "I did not wish for things to transpire the way they did."

R: Greg leaned back in his chair and slumped in his seat. He despised conversations like this, but realized how necessary this was if he was ever to see Mycroft's face in his flat again. He crossed one arm over his stomach and held his tea cup with the other. A band of Greg's skin was showing between his T-shirt and pajama bottoms. He bit his lower lip and stared just past Mycroft's head into the distance, still unable to meet Mycroft's eyes. "No, no, Mycroft. I understand. I'm sorry for not respecting your boundaries. I should have given you more space, and I should have realized that you just needed some time alone after we..." His voice trailed off as he nodded toward the sofa. He took a sip of tea and wiped off the trail of tea dripping down the side of his cup with the same rag he used in the kitchen, which he brought to the dining table.

T: Now, Mycroft was beginning to feel the continued frustration of misunderstanding. He could not put this off any longer- He reached forward, pulling the rag gently from Greg's hands and enfolded one of Greg's hands in two of his own. It was warm from the tea. "Gregory," he began, like he'd never called him Detective Inspector back in that bathroom.  "You did not know. Could not have known. Presumably, sharing a shower afterward is... Normal behavior. I am sorry that I am not capable of it." He wished that he was, so Greg did not have to feel guilty like this for what was really a small oversight.

R: Greg looked at their hands and slowly lifted his face up to look into Mycroft's eyes. "No, Mycroft, don't...don't apologize for it. Everyone has their boundaries, certain things they can tolerate and can't tolerate. And from now on, I promise to respect yours." Was there really a future for them, or had Greg blown it? Mycroft did call "Gregory," a step up from what he called Greg in the shower. But Greg couldn't shake the feeling that he had ruined any chance of them possibly being together. He looked to one side and mumbled under his breath. "That is, if I haven't already ruined the prospect of a 'from now on' between us..."

T: Mycroft's hands tightened around Greg's. Gregory had thought he was leaving. He'd made tea for one. He had not thought that their relationship, whatever it was, would continue.  Mycroft shook his head, and said softly, "I am enchanted by you. You made a mistake, because you did not know of my failings. I do not want to not be with you because of that alone." He swallowed. "That said, I do not think you understand quite what occurred...  You didn't pass any boundaries. I can surely tolerate being in a shower with you, as well as, ah... Anything you may have done with me in said shower..." His ears were pink again. The thought of Greg's mouth on him again was so potent that it was better left for another time. "It was not the actions that bothered me, as much as the, er, timing." He didn't like explaining this, but Greg didn't seem to understand. "I must have things in order, Gregory. Everything must be in its proper place.  Time, with you, for sex, is different than time, alone, to make myself comfortable and presentable. And if I cannot put myself in order at the proper time, if that ability is invaded..." He actually shivered, eyes slipping closed, almost seeming to panic again. "These sorts of things are not mistakes that can be avoided in the future. They are the way I am. You must decide if you're willing to accept them before you decide for yourself if you want to continue."

R: So. Mycroft is obsessive-compulsive. Greg was obsessive-compulsive in some respects; for instance, anything in his kitchen [especially that tea-cup and that rag] and his football jersey collection. So he understood Mycroft's need for order and timeliness. If only he had realized earlier, this whole mess could have been avoided. Of course he could accept Mycroft for who he was. He just had to show Mycroft that he, too, had to keep certain things in order. He knew exactly how. He gently put down his tea cup on a coaster. He got up, still holding one of Mycroft's hands and tried to get him up off the dining chair. "Come with me. I want to show you something."

T: Mycroft looked at Greg doubtfully, but dutifully rose with him. Mycroft did not remove his hand from Greg's. At a time like this, and hopefully he wasn't wrong, Gregory was meant to be at Mycroft's side, touching him gently and simply, and feeling close. Everything was in its rightful place and it felt right. Mycroft wanted there to be so many more times like these and he prayed that they could figure this out between the two of them and continue on. "What is it?" He asked, a bit weary.

R: Greg led Mycroft to the small hall closet next to the bathroom. Instead of having towels and spare things in the closet like most people, he unveiled his immense football collection. He had jerseys, cleats, foam fingers, vuvuzelas, pennants, signed footballs, and any other paraphernalia imaginable from every single football team in the world. Everything was neatly sorted into rows and columns in an elaborate sorting system. Everything was evenly spaced, and despite making their permanent abode in a closet, none of the items had even a light coat of lint or dust on them. Nearby, there was a small dusting brush. He picked it up and meticulously dusted each and every inch of all the items in the closet, explaining to Mycroft the team it belonged to or signified and the date he bought it, and any applicable backstory. After dusting the whole closet full of items, he placed the brush back in its place, closed the closet door, and turned to Mycroft. "See? We're not so different, are we?"

T: Mycroft watched with quiet fascination as Greg explained, as he talked, as he dusted. The meticulous rows of paraphernalia were actually rather calming, knicknacks of all types laid out in rows by team, all in similar order. Everything had its place, and everything that had a place was in its place. And Greg kept it that way, on purpose. Mycroft's heart sputtered a bit. Gregory was trying to make him feel like he was at home, like he belonged, like he wasn't so strange. It was wonderful. And it was very, very kind. Mycroft allowed Greg to finish his ritual without interruption, but as soon as he was done, Mycroft was gently taking Greg by the shoulders and kissing him, lips on lips showing just how touched Mycroft was by the whole thing. He wanted to comfort Greg too, wanted to strip him of his guilt. "I trusted you then, like you asked, and I still trust you. You haven't ruined my opinion of you. You haven't ruined anything, Gregory. Least of all your chance with me."

R: Greg looked up at Mycroft. He properly looked the man in the eyes for the first time since the...incident. He simply looked into Mycroft's eyes for a few moments, then placed on hand on his hip. He gently stroked Mycroft's cheek with the knuckles of the other hand. He didn't know what to say. Mycroft had been so kind. He went and messed up Mycroft's delicate timing and yet Mycroft had been kind enough to forgive him! He remembered one of his previous -- he mentally searched for the proper word. Lovers? Partners? Boyfriends? None of them seemed to fit -- mates, and how he interrupted Greg in the middle of dusting his football collection. Greg had gotten so very upset with him that it had taken him days to forgive him. But Mycroft had forgiven him in a matter of minutes! He was speechless. He managed to grin from ear to ear and stutter, "I-I'm glad." He cupped Mycroft's cheek with the hand that was stroking it, and leaned in for another kiss.

T: Mycroft forgave him because Greg hadn't known. Internally, he was still shaking from it, and little tiny details from the bathroom were calling out to him, like wrinkles in the hand towels and a smudge on the corner of the mirror, as well as details about himself- He wanted desperately to see his hair in a mirror and fix it- But this was more important. Because this wasn't time meant for making himself up. This was time for Gregory. Mycroft was exactly where he was meant to be, doing exactly as he was meant to be doing.  Mycroft's eyes drifted closed, because Greg's hand felt so lovely on his cheek, and he pressed gently into it, enjoying the soft touch. Mycroft enjoyed a deep, long kiss with Lestrade, and then let himself break away. He took the hand on his cheek in his own, and then gestured to Gregory's collection. "May I?" He asked. He could take this opportunity to get a little bit of revenge, putting things askew or out of place, so Gregory would know how he'd made Mycroft feel. Or perhaps he wouldn't. He was asking Greg to trust him, too.

R: Greg hadn't trusted anyone with his collection. When he was just starting to collect football things as a four year old aspiring footballer, he wouldn't let his mother or father touch any of his items. When he was eight, his friends demanded to see his steadily growing collection, and he didn't show any of them. He knew that if he so much as gave them a glimpse of his signed football, they'd push and shove their way and kick the football around and dirty it. When he was 14, his first boyfriend actually wore his foam finger. It enraged him to such an extent that they almost broke up over it. But the very next day, they broke up because Greg found out his boyfriend had been cheating on him. When he first starting working at the Yard, the others almost pressured him into bringing a few of his things to work to show them, but he resisted, fearing the dreaded coffee stain on his precious collection. And now, here was this man who wanted to see his collection, who was asking for Greg's trust. And Greg was more than willing to share this part of his life with him. He had finally found a kindred spirit, and he wasn't going to give up this opportunity to grant him access to something this close to his heart. He beamed at Mycroft. "Sure. Have a look."

T: Mycroft ignored the way that show of trust blossomed like warmth inside his throat. He'd never been much of a fan of football. Or of any sport, actually. He'd spent most of his time in his life buried inside books. Usually, not very exciting books. But now, he found that he had so much to learn. He had to learn the characteristics of this team or that, he had to learn of the players and of their reputations, he had to learn all of the quirks of the game the way it worked past basic rules. As such, he wanted to get closer to Greg's collection, which was so dear to him. He leaned in to inspect each folded Jersey and signed football and shiny pin, careful not to breathe too directly on any of them. He decided it was time for another analogy, another demonstration. Mycroft reached forward and disengaged one of the perfectly shiny pins from its spot in gentle foam, and held it close to his eyes, inspecting every bit of paint in it and every shine on the bit of gold. He handled it like it was a precious jewel from some foreign king, making sure not to leave finger prints, not to allow dust to hit it, not allowing it to be damaged or altered in any way. Then, when he was done, he placed it back in its spot, exactly the way it was sitting before, as if he'd never touched it in the first place. He looked to Greg to see if he'd just committed a horrible crime.

R: The whole time, Greg just stood there, tried to hold it in the best he could. He clenched and unclenched his fists, he gritted his teeth, he actually winced when Mycroft removed the pin. But he reminded himself that Mycroft wasn't like the others. He didn't get any fingerprints or smudges on the pin. He was extremely careful in handling his collection. He didn't do any of this to mess with Greg. He was doing this to see if Greg could trust him.  Mycroft trusted Greg, and Greg knew. He trusted him to such an extent that even after the incident, Mycroft still wanted to stick with Greg. What could Greg do other than show some reciprocity? When Mycroft turned around so he could see Greg's reaction to what Mycroft did, Greg relaxed his muscles and gave Mycroft a half-smile. "I was just twelve years old. I was shooting some goals, when the goalie for the team walked by the field and saw me all alone on the grass, shooting goals from across the field. He had this pin on his duffel bag, and he took it off and gave it to me. Said I'd become a great footballer some day. That never happened, of course, but I'll never forget that day. One of the best days of my life." Getting a bit sentimental, Greg cleared his throat. "So, do you want to learn more about the different teams, or...what do you want to do? Are you hungry? I could order us some Chinese takeaway."

T: Mycroft had been very careful not to disturb a thing about Greg's collection even as he separated one piece from the fold. He listened to Greg's story, and though he managed not to get distracted by the point of the story, he couldn't help but picture the DI in cleats and long socks and a jersey and tight shorts. He went red at the ears again. At Greg's awkward offer, he spoke up. "Actually, if it's alright... you mentioned cake?" After all that had transpired, he could use it. Also, perhaps he would be awarded the opportunity to kiss some frosting from Gregory's lips. "It would seem that I have a great deal to learn about football. You're welcome to educate me. His hand found Greg's again. Now, as they had earlier, it felt like they were connecting, and it was wonderful.

R: Greg chuckled, "Sure, let's have some cake." He tugged on Mycroft's arm. "You coming?" Greg led him to the kitchen and got out a large, 10 inch red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting, which was missing a moderately sized slice. He placed it on the dining table and got two small plates and forks and a knife from a cabinet in the kitchen. He placed one plate and fork in front of Mycroft, and the other plate and fork across the table. He cut a big slice for Mycroft and put it on his plate. Greg cut a slightly smaller slice for himself, put it on his plate, and began to eat. "Y'know, I've got an immense sweet tooth. But sweets get sort of boring if you eat them alone all the time. That's why every year, when the folks at the Met give me this cake, I eat a slice and give the rest to London's underground homeless network. I've been doing that for close to fifteen years now. I love seeing their faces when I bring them cake. They all know that around this time of year, they'll get some lovely cake and their stomachs will be full for one night." He smiled, the crow's feet around his eyes crinkling, at the memories of happy faces, warm smiles, and hugs from starving children. "So, how do you like the cake, Mycroft?"

T: Mycroft purposefully did not let the stabbing knife of guilt in his chest show on his face. "Excellent." He responded. "Your fellows at the yard have wonderful taste." The cake tasted significantly worse now that he had images in his heads of slightly hungrier street urchin children. Mycroft was by no means an evil man. He donated thousands annually to charities for medical research and education for those unable to afford proper education themselves. That didn't make the cake taste any less bitter after Greg dropped that bomb on him. Note to self: Whatever he decided to get Gregory for his birthday, make it something in excess that he can share with underprivileged children. He would pay for this slice of cake with smiles and "Thank you, sir!"s. As it was, it did steal his breath a bit that Gregory was so kind. Almost disgustingly kind, in fact. So kind, it hurt to think about. The aching tug in his chest of want for the man sitting across from him became a bit stronger.

R: Greg noticed Mycroft's hesitation, and immediately regretted telling him that story while they were eating the cake. Why did he have to constantly mess things up with Mycroft? He reached across the table and took Mycroft's free hand in his. "Mycroft, don't worry. I'll go down to the store and get another cake for them. I wouldn't do anything to let them starve on Cake Day. So, feel free to eat as much as you'd like." Greg desperately changed the subject. "So, want anything to drink? I've got some...apple juice and some cola...and more beer..." His voice trailed off as he cleaned the last crumbs off his plate.

T: Mycroft shook his head. "No, allow me. When exactly is 'Cake Day'?" Mycroft had the means to get them a full course dinner with the snap of his fingers. He figured that probably would just make the children sick, and they weren't expecting gourmet, they were expecting cake. A sheet cake would do. "And Gregory..." He gave Greg's hand a squeeze. "Please- Relax. Your hospitality is excellent, and I find myself very at home."He smiled softly. All he needed to feel that he was at home was know that he was welcome. His melancholy when he thought Mycroft was leaving was enough to prove to Mycroft that Greg wanted him there.

R: Greg beamed at Mycroft. He was very pleased that Mycroft was actually interested in Cake Day. None of his previous... [again his brain searched for the proper word. Hookup? Hookup.] hookups even bothered about Cake Day. Some even tried to talk him out of it, saying it was a waste of money and lovely cake. But Greg always refused to let Cake Day go. Even though he had an insatiable sweet tooth, he was conscious of his weight and the muffin top that he was slowly acquiring. But here was Mycroft, who had taken an interest in not just one, but two of his quirky rituals. "Cake Day is tomorrow, by the way. I usually bring the cake to the alley next to Vauxhall Arches around five or six in the evening. Most of the families will be congregated in that general area by then." He brought their conjoined hands to his lips and kissed Mycroft's knuckles. "Thanks for doing this, Mycroft." He didn't realize, but he left a spot of frosting on Mycroft's knuckles, because there was a smidge of cream cheese frosting on Greg's face, right next to his lips.

T: Gregory was wrong, about the muffin top. The only time he could ever have extra flab gathering above his waistband was if he wore pants that were too tight, and if he did that, Mycroft would certainly not have his attention on Greg's stomach. Mycroft picked up his phone to put in some time for Cake Day in his schedule. The ambassador from North Korea could be pushed back an hour. "I'll be there. It's no matter, really." He watched as Greg kissed the back of his hand, and felt the tacky feeling of frosting. He looked at Greg's lips, at the bit of frosting there, and he simply could not help himself. He stood, leaning over the table, to kiss Lestrade, licking the frosting from his face with a deft tongue.

R: Greg leaned into the kiss. He felt Mycroft's tongue skate across his lips and lick a patch of skin next to his mouth. He figured he must have had some frosting there. He parted his lips for Mycroft's tongue and threaded his fingers through the hair on the back of his head. He stepped away from the table and pulled Mycroft with him. He pressed himself against him and wrapped his arms around Mycroft's body.

T: Mycroft placed both hands on the sides of Greg's face, feeling the very beginnings of late-night stubble there. Greg was there then, pressing into Mycroft and holding him close, and Mycroft felt the air escape his lungs in a delicious rush, so much that he had to pull back slightly from Greg's mouth to catch his breath. He didn't stray far, instead letting his forehead rest on Greg's and breathing softly against his face. "You are delectable, Gregory." He said softly. "And so kind that I can hardly stand it."

R: Greg caught his breath for a moment, then smiled and leaned up for a quick kiss. He moved his lips to Mycroft's jaw and down his neck. He rested his head on Mycroft's shoulder, lips on his neck and hugged Mycroft, breathing in his scent. He chuckled softly. "Hmmm. That's the first time anyone's called me delectable. Same goes for you too." Greg licked a stripe up Mycroft's neck and settled his head back on Mycroft's shoulder. "You're much sweeter than that cake we just had. I could just eat you up."

T: Mycroft laughed breathlessly, trying to calm the mad fluttering in his chest as Gregory paid homage to his face and neck. He chuckled softly, one of his own hands falling almost awkwardly to one of Greg's shoulders before instead finding a home on his back, tracing tiny patterns up and down. "Have you ever been accused of being cheesy before, Gregory?" He asked, though it was clear he did not mind Greg's praise, even if it was a bit cheesy. "You are an excellent kisser. I feel privileged to get the chance to find that out."

R: "Thanks, Mycroft. I owe it all to experience, really," Greg mumbled into his shoulder. "And yeah, I have. A couple of my previous...em...my cheesiness irritated them to no extent. No matter." He pulled away from Mycroft's body, walked over to his stereo, shuffled through a few CDs, and popped one in. Soon, [Beethoven's Pathétique Sonata](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1FP7NosLxkw&feature=fvsr) was playing. Greg returned to his original position, snuggled up to Mycroft's body, and began lightly swaying his hips and moving his feet to the music. He closed his eyes and let the notes fill his head, letting his body relax against Mycroft's. Greg felt perfect. Absolutely perfect.

T: Mycroft followed him with his eyes, listening to the music he put on and identifying it after a few long moments. He raised both eyebrows at Greg, surprised, but stood, baring his entire self for Greg and gently pulling him into warm arms when he came close, and then trailed one had up to his head, gently stroking his scalp and guiding him to lay his head on Mycroft's collarbone. Mycroft swayed with him, slowly. Not the quick waltzes and foxtrots that he'd been taught to do as a young man, but something far more casual. Two bodies, close together, moving together, with soft beats of a piano guiding them. It felt wonderful. "You aren't helping your case." Mycroft said, almost chidingly. "But then... I wouldn't exactly call myself irritated."

R: "I guess I like being cheesy. And no, it doesn't seem like you are irritated. In fact..." Greg's hands traveled down to Mycroft's arse and pushed Mycroft's hips against Greg's. "...It seems as if you're enjoying this." Greg was thoroughly enjoying the moment between him and Mycroft. He couldn't remember feeling this peaceful and relaxed in years, especially with another man. He could stay like that for hours on end, but he remembered, grudgingly, that he had to go to work tomorrow. After that, Cake Day, which he was looking forward to, not only because of being able to see the familiar faces again, but also because he would get to show Mycroft off to the homeless network. He sighed deeply against Mycroft's shoulders, feeling satisfied and _happy_.

T: Mycroft was enjoying it. He was enjoying the smooth motion of the music as well as the smooth movement of Greg and himself together. As for the slight firmness that Greg felt pressed against himself that very moment, it was more a result of the bit of necking Greg had done a moment ago than the dancing, which was instead very, very calming. Save for their little hiccup, being with Greg at all was very calming. He could remember, with faint, painful bitterness the happiness of having that two weeks with Loretta, and he knew then that he had a whole life ahead of him with another beloved. Provided neither of them died on the job, Mycroft had every intention of being there to dance with Greg until they were each too old and gnarled to stand. And Mycroft was happy too. "It seems I am." He replied.


End file.
